


Finding Love in the Strangest Places

by Zazou



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: A.U., ASoIaF Kink Meme, Arranged Marriage, F/M, Joffery's rebellion, Mentioned Character Death, Not actually incest, Rape/Non-con Elements, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-08
Updated: 2013-10-19
Packaged: 2017-12-22 20:33:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 19
Words: 49,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/917736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zazou/pseuds/Zazou
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Rebellion didn't happen till Next Gen: </p><p>Arya was engaged to Joffery and eloped/was kidnapped by Aegon. Robb and his father Brandon went down to King's Landing and  Mad King Rhaegar killed them. Now Jon has to marry Robb's betrothed Sansa Tully. </p><p>Sansa had a crush on Robb and now has to marry his sullen younger brother before he goes off to war.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, thanks for the comments and kudos. They make me write faster and feedback is always great.

Sansa Tully studied her reflection taking in the sight of herself in her sky blue wedding gown. She ran her fingers over the thick border of silver embroidery edged with delicate saltwater pearls and idly played with the long fluting sleeves. She’d spent ages embroidering the bodice making it look like she was covered in fish-scales glittering in the sunlight as a nod to her Tully roots.  


Her handmaiden hummed happily while brushing her flaming hair to a glossy sheen, cascading down her back and softly framing her face. 

A smile flitted across her Great Uncle Black Fish's leathery face as he looked her over.

“You look beautiful.” He said his voice gruff but warm. Edmure beamed nodding in agreement. “That gown is exquisite.” He added. “your mother would’ve been very proud of your work.” 

That was the last straw Sansa burst into tears. “I made it for him, Papa.” She cried. 

Her father’s face crumbled. “Oh, sweetling.” He pulled her into a hug. 

“I made it for him and now he’ll never get to see it.” She mumbled into his silken doublet. 

When Sansa heard about Robb’s death she’d locked herself in her bedchamber and wept for days. He had been so full of life. She couldn’t bear to think of his wild merry eyes as being dull and lifeless. She had been utterly infatuated with him, her Young Wolf, handsome, brave and strong. When he teased her she’d turned as red as her hair and when he kissed her, her heart would skip a beat. She’d been warned that the North was wild and grim but he was more than worth it. Sansa thought she was the luckiest girl in all the Seven Kingdoms. So she set to work making herself an elegant gown that would take her betrothed's breath away. 

Now he and his father were both dead at the hands of Mad King Rhaegar. Leaving her to be handed off to his younger less handsome stone-faced brother. He was a total stranger. The only thing they had in common was their grief. 

She took a deep breath and wiped the tears from her eyes. At least she knew her husband would be honorable, all the Starks were honorable men. 

“I know your heart is broken but time will heal it.” Her father said rubbing her back in soothing circles.

Sansa sniffed and nodded. In the corner of her eye she could see her great uncle shifted awkwardly from one foot to the other, not knowing what to do or say.

“The Northmen have nothing but kind words to say about the new Lord Stark.” He added encouragingly. “You know what your Grandfather always said, a man’s worth nothing without his people’s respect.” 

“Besides,” Her great uncle said clapping her on the back. “you just say the word and I’ll throw him into the Trident.” Sansa laughed a small hiccupy laugh.

“Shansha?” Sansa would have recognized that lisp anywhere. She blinked back a fresh wave of tears and turned to faced her little brother. Brynden had his head cocked to the side and his brow furrowed with his baby brother Hoster clutching his hand. The solemn four year old just stared up at her with his big blue eyes sucking his thumb. 

“Yes, dearhearts?” Her voice cracked as she spoke. She was the only mother these two had ever known and after the war ended she would be leaving them for the wintery wilderness of the North. 

“Why are you crying Shansha?” The very worried six-year-old asked. 

Be strong she told herself. Family, Duty, Honor. 

“I’m just so happy.” She said grinning through her tears.


	2. Chapter 2

All eyes turned to her as her father guided her through the Godswood. It was just as beautiful as she’d always imagined, the dappled sunlight shining through the canopy of redwoods, the bards playing the high harp in the background, the air pungent with the sweet smell of peonies and honeysuckle in bloom. She wished her aunts could have made it so she’d have some friends faces looking back at her, but they were at Casterly Rock and the Eyrie. 

Sansa tried to ignore the crowd as she walked toward the heart tree and her bridegroom. There he was, Jon Stark all bundled up in leathers and furs, a fearsome albino direwolf at his side. When she reached the heart tree she bowed low before her betrothed then turned to the Septon refusing to meet Jon’s gaze. She was far too nervous to look him in the eye and decided to take things one step at a time. 

As the Septon droned on she snuck a surreptitious glance at the new Stark heir. He was shorter and leaner than Robb. Robb had inherited the Ryswell looks from his mother, mahogany hair straight as a pin, and chocolate brown eyes. Jon, it seemed, was all Stark with his mop of unkempt black curls and sullen grey eyes. Truthfully, he looked nothing like her old flame and she wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not.

'Family, Duty, Honor.' The refrain pounded through her head again and again as she parroted back the Septon’s words. Sansa shivered as her father took off her maiden cloak. For a moment she was simply Sansa, with no family, no duty, no honor to protect. Then Jon draped her in the grey and white cloak of house Stark. With a metallic click, he closed the silver direwolf clasp around her neck and just like that he was her lord husband and she was his lady wife. 

\---------

The wedding feast was a boisterous and raucous affair. Sansa felt uncomfortable surrounded by so many men. Since they were on a war path the lords of the North and the Riverlands had left their ladies behind to hold their castle. The great hall was full of drunken soldiers filled with bloodlust and sweet Dornish wine. The only other noblewoman was Lady Ashara her new good aunt who was just as beautiful as they had said. She was the wife of the Ned Stark who couldn’t attend the wedding because: ‘There must always be a Stark in Winterfell.’ 

Everyone seemed to be of good cheer, especially Joffrey Baratheon who was having a grand old time, chatting animatedly with Roose Bolton’s bastard and drinking his body weight in sour red. Sansa frowned, the young man was meant to be heartbroken his betrothed had been kidnapped by a madman. Based on the way Joffrey was leeching at the serving girls and filling the hall with his booming laughter Sansa assumed that there was no love lost between Arya Stark and the young Storm Lord. 

Gods, what if the girl had eloped? No, she couldn’t believe her good sister would be so selfish and rash. She’d heard that the crown prince was stunning with his silver tresses and violet eyes but no man was worth losing both a brother and a father. Mayhaps she was short-sighted and hadn’t anticipated King Rhagear’s rage? She knew speculating was pointless but she wanted answers. Wanted to understand how and why her whole world had gotten turned upside down. 

Sansa looked over at her husband who was picking at his food idly and looking positively morose. She sighed before taking another sip of cream of chestnut soup. If this were her wedding to Robb they would have been dancing the Tarantella right now. 

“She's gorgeous, my boy.” Great Jon Umber bellowed clapping his new liege lord on the back in a most inappropriate fashion. “That fire-kissed hair...Good figure, too.” He looked her up and down his eyes bleary with wine and lust. “You’ll get a babe on her in a sennight.” 

Aye, if only they had a sennight! Sansa thought, taking a generous gulp of her mulled wine. She would only have a hand full of days with her husband before sending him off to battle. Great Jon let out a cackle before grabbing a serving girl by the waist and dragging her off to the dance floor. 

Jon leaned in and cleared his throat to get her attention. When she turned to face him he flushed and stared down at his plate of lamprey pie. 

"I know I am not--" he began, then broke off, looking sheepish and uncomfortable. "I know this is not what you had expected," he restated, "but I do hope... I expect we will suit one another.”

He carefully reached out taking her hand in his. His hands were clammy and his grip uncertain but Sansa found it oddly endearing. He was so nervous. She’d never seen Robb this nervous, not even that time Septa Haigh had caught them kissing by the riverbank. 

“Once this war is over, I will do everything I can to make Winterfell a comfortable home for you.”

There was so much sincerity in those grey eyes. Despite the circumstances, they owed it to themselves to at least try and make it work. Sansa smiled and squeezed his hand. 

"You are most gracious, my lord. I will be a good wife to you."

He awkwardly angled his body towards her and gingerly reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. She realized to her surprise that he was going in for a kiss. After a fleeting moment of panic, she licked her lips and shut her eyes. She was ready. 

“Time for the bedding!” Joffrey roared. Sansa and Jon flew apart at the sudden outburst and Joffrey fell out of his chair with a loud thump.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thanks a bunch for all the kudos and comments. Don't worry there's more coming.

Her father prevented the bedding ceremony from going too far, and she was deposited in her chambers (theirs now, she realized with a start) in her linen shift and smallclothes. She feared the redness that tinted her pale skin would never disappear, but she fought the urge to hide her face in the sheets, bawdy jests and vulgar remarks still ringing in her ears as she wandered over to the hearth. 

Standing before the fire, and she was unable to shake the feeling that this was something she should instinctively understand but didn’t. Septa Haigh had been very concerned with making sure Sansa came to her wedding bed a maid but hadn’t told her what to expect. Her Aunt Catelyn had told her that young men had trouble controlling themselves at first and that her husband would get better at pleasuring her with practice. That’s why she and her sister Lysa were lucky to have married older widowers. 

She could hear them coming near with Jon outside the door, the giggling, and lewd japes, and she slipped out of her shift and smallclothes, trying not to feel conscious of the ample curve of her backside, the swell of her hips. She kept her back to the door, her hair spilling almost to her hips and keeping her half-concealed.

The door opened. There was laughter and shouting and then it slammed shut. She forced herself not to turn, forced herself not to try and conceal her body. She listened to Jon’s quiet footfalls as he walked across the room. She was certain she should say something, a gentle word, perhaps, something sultry or clever, but her heart was lodged somewhere in her throat. She shivered. 

"Are you cold?" He murmured, his voice wavering. 

"Not cold," she said quietly. "Just nervous, my lord."

She wondered how far down he’d been stripped. Did he still have his under tunic on? Was he wearing small clothes at least? 

She took a deep breath before turning to face him, moving slowly to give him plenty of warning as to her intentions. His gaze trailed slowly down her body, lingering on her breasts, the red curls nestled between her thighs.They stood stock still staring at each other each waiting for the other to make a move. Jon was in nothing but his smallclothes. His shoulders were broad and his chest was firm. He was good-looking in his own way not dashing but handsome. 

Unfortunately, any ardor he had felt for her seemed to have disappeared. He looked like a terrified animal cornered by a predator. After a few moments of waiting for him to do something, anything Sansa became frustrated. Septa Haigh had told her that she should have a maiden’s modesty but they couldn’t both be shrinking violets. 

“Do I not please you, my lord?” She asked softly moving closer to him. 

“Of course you please me.” He sputtered looking wide-eyed and bewildered. “When Robb spoke of your beauty I thought he was just trying to make me jealous but…” 

He froze horrified at his own words. It obviously hurt him to talk about his brother and it felt eerie addressing the ghost haunting their wedding bed. The sound of his name falling from her new husband’s lips made her heartache. Jon turned beet red and avoided meeting her eyes. 

“I am sorry I shouldn’t have…” 

Ignoring him, she moved closer and closing the distance between them. He shivered slightly but did not try to get away. She stroked his cheek with the back of her hand as if he were one of her brothers awoken from a nightmare. She inhaled deeply was grateful that he didn’t smell like Robb and his sandalwood cologne. He smelled different, like leather and hard soap and something else she couldn't name.

“He won’t want me to live my life promised to a ghost.”

Jon nodded but still won’t look at her. The light from the hearth made his gray eyes look warm.

“I am your wife it is your right to enjoy me.” She kept her voice soft, and pressed her other hand against his chest, feeling warm skin and soft, wiry hair under her palm for the first time. His body felt tense under her touch and color bloomed on his face and neck. Suddenly it clicked. He had never been with a woman. For some reason, that cheered her. At least they were on the same page. Lost and confused together. 

She lowered her mouth to his, kissing him slowly. His lips were chapped but full. They parted and her tongue dipped in exploring his hot eager mouth. He tasted like cinnamon, cloves and something else something spicy. He groaned and sucked on her tongue cupping her face in one of his hands. His other arm snaked around her waist pulling her closer. She reached out and entangled her fingers in Jon’s locks. She gave the curls an experimental tug, tilting Jon’s head to the side and deepening the kiss. Then all too quickly Jon pulled away. Sansa made an undignified whining noise at the loss. 

“You feel so soft.” He whispered memorizing her jaw with the tip of his tongue as he cautiously cupped one of her breast thumbing her pink nipple. She let out a gasp of surprise and squeezed his bicep. She could feel him smiling into the curve of her shoulder and wound her arms around his neck, trying to get him even closer. 

She wasn’t sure who made the first move towards the bed but suddenly Jon was pushing her softly onto the pillows and pressed his whole body against her. Jon lifted himself up and reached down to push his smallclothes down his hips. Sansa giggled at his awkward movements as he struggled to kick his undergarments off his feet. He looked up pouting at her, his pupils wide like a faun’s. 

“It’s not polite to laugh.” He said his voice husky and low. 

“I’m sorry, my lord.” She said demurely peeking at him through a curtain of her own hair. He leaned in and nuzzled her temple. 

“It’s Jon.” His lips brushed against her skin as he spoke tickling her. 

“Jon.” She whispered breathily. 

And just like that, he was all over her again. She could feel his heart beating louder than hers. It was all so overwhelming, his weight on her body, his hot breath on her skin, his mouth sucking and nibbling at her pulse point and his hands roaming her sides. His fingers were so warm against her feverish skin as he traced soothing circles over the soft and ticklish flesh of her inner leg sending sparks of arousal through Sansa’s body with every touch. Jon was everywhere and yet it wasn’t nearly enough. She wanted, needed more.

He gently pressed, only placing closed mouth kisses over her breast, before he grew bolder and ran the tip of his tongue over her hardened nipple. Sansa keened and arched her body into him, unconsciously spreading her legs letting him settle between them. 

“Please.” She whimpered. Jon growled and took her nipple into his mouth, sucking greedily. 

Jon’s body began rocking back and forth, his hardening manhood poking her, grinding into her thigh. Sansa encouraged him by ululating her hips and matching his rhythm, still massaging his scalp as he alternated between her breasts, kissing and sucking them. 

Suddenly her eyes snapped open as she felt the sweet drag of his leaking swollen member pressing between her wet folds, sliding up and down against her cleft. When she moaned he repeated the motion, her body shuddering from the friction and flooded with arousal. He reached down and gingerly guided himself into her.

She gasped, breathless with shock as he gently impaled her. He peppered her flushed face with kisses. 

“I’m sorry. It’ll get better, I promise.” He breathed, holding still with a great effort. Gods, it was like he was invading her body he was so impossibly close, almost a part of her. It was such as strange sensation; so overwhelming she couldn’t decide if what she was feeling was pain or pleasure.

"Move please." She told him, wrapping one long leg around him to pull him closer. He smiled down at her and started grinding frantically sliding in and out. There was only one thing that could make this better. She wasn’t sure if it was really proper to be blunt with one’s husband but fortune favored the bold. 

“Right above my entrance.” She panted. “There’s a nub.” Jon reached down to where they were joined and rubbed his thumb up and down her hard nub. 

“This?” 

Sansa gasped and bucked forward desperate for more. 

“You like that?” He asked grinning triumphantly. 

“Yes, please. Just like that.” She whimpered and clung to his shoulder reveling in the sensation of his cock thrusting and surging inside her the feel of his fingers between them, rubbing and pressing her nub, bringing her, even more pleasure. 

She hitched her legs up high on Jon’s waist to push him in deeper. The waves of pleasure were just so intense and all consuming. Sansa felt like every square inch of her body was exposed and raw. Jon’s body tensed and he let out a low guttural groan. 

“Sansa.” He grasped his manhood pulsing and filling her with his seed. Suddenly a white light flashed before Sansa’s eyes there was a buzzing in his ears and she was peaking.  
Her eyelids fluttered shut she could feel Jon’s heartbeat through his manhood. 

Just as Sansa’s breathing was beginning to calm down he felt Jon starting to move. Sansa panicked Jon had to stay inside her or his seed would spill out and she wouldn’t get pregnant. Sansa dug his heels into Jon’s ass to hold him in place.

"Stay in! Please…" 

Jon chuckled amused by Sansa’s neediness and buried his face in her hair.

“It’s alright. I’m not going anywhere.” 

Sansa’s whole body relaxed. Jon’s hand rubbed gentle circles on Sansa’s upper arm as he nuzzled Sansa’s throat.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Answering the question about Sansa parentage in this chapter also setting up timeline. It's a bit of filler but don't worry drama is on it's way.

When Sansa woke up she was startled to find herself alone in her bed. The light poured in from the windows, and she heard mock battle cries and the clanging of swords coming from the yard but there was no sign of her husband. She yawned and stretched out in her now their bed. Her thoughts turned to the last night. Her husband had taken her three times during the night. Each time he lasted longer and he had more control over his movements. Each time he explored her body with an odd combination of reverence and hunger and each time he made her peak. 

Although she was learning much about her husband’s body, the way the coarse hairs on his legs tickled her skin, the way his manhood felt hard yet sponge and delicate ect., she still didn’t know much about his character. He didn’t speak much just complements and expletives. He seemed to love her hair playing with it, sniffing it, stroking it. After he came they would cuddle and he would fall back asleep giving her no time to talk to him. 

She found herself wishing that he was more like his brother. Robb had been an open book, after his first sennight at Riverrun she’d felt as if she’d know him all her life. She knew she shouldn’t compare the two brothers it wasn’t fair to anybody, but it was hard not to. She felt a sudden chill and decided to slip into a nightgown. She got out of bed and refiled thru her chest of drawers before settling on a linen shift. She put in on over her head and set about brushing her hair. 

She heard soft footfalls behind her, and she turned her head to see Jon’s direwolf Ghost padding towards her. Sansa smiled and extended her hand to the great beast. He eagerly rubbed the top of his head against her palm his pink tongue lolling out the side of his mouth. Septa Haigh had always told her to stay away from the kennels and warned her that the dogs would bite her marring her face and making her less eligible. But Sansa liked spending afternoons in the kennels, playing with the puppies, brushing the long-haired dogs, sneaking them goose gizzards from the kitchens and teaching them tricks.

“He likes you,” a voice called from the doorway.

Sansa looked up and saw Jon leaning against the doorway grinning down at her. He was so much more handsome when he smiled. It made his whole face light up. In a sudden and uncharacteristic display of affection, Ghost nuzzled Sansa’s face and bestows a sloppy lick upon her cheek. Jon’s grey eyes twinkled as he laughed, and Sansa thought that she’d never heard a sound more lovely. 

“You were up early.” 

“Had to do dawn drills with my men then had to attend a war council meeting.” 

“How did the meeting go?” 

Jon shrugged off his jerkin and Sansa tried not to gawp at his lean muscled frame glowing with sweat from training in the yard. 

“Your father’s men and the Baratheon forces will leave tomorrow for Summer Hall. Then I’ll be setting off with my troops the day after to subdue The Reach.”

Sansa nodded and scratched behind Ghost’s ears. She’d known that everyone would be off to war as soon as the wedding was over, but somehow she still managed to feel disappointed. They had so little time! Jon was slipping through her fingers before her very eyes, just like Robb, just like her mother. 

“My lord, it is possible that we will have only these few days as man and wife…” 

Her husband’s eyes widened and turned stormy. 

“Don’t talk that way.” He entwined her in his arms and pulled her to his chest.

“I swear I will return for you and take you to Winterfell.” 

Her heart ached at his words. His brother had made her that very same promise and now he was nothing more than a pile of ash. 

“I think we should spend what little time we have together in bed.” 

Her husband’s eyes darkened and he grinned wolfishly at her. 

“I think that’s an excellent idea.”  
\-------  
They traumatized the servant who was sent to give them breakfast. But the breakfast food gave Jon the idea to pour honey all over Sansa and lick it off covering her in kisses from head to toe. She didn’t have the same ease rapport with Jon that she’d had with Robb but he had a talent tongue and clever fingers. He was shy with his words but bold with his actions.  
\-------  
The Tullys had an intimate family supper that night. Sansa watched her father bouncing his youngest son on his knee and feeding him mashed yam, while her great uncle regaled his namesake with tales of his adventures. Both of them were trying to soak up as much of this warm and sense of normality as possible before going off to war. They all tried to keep the conversation light willfully ignoring the looming shadow of death yet to come. Her husband sat next to her observing quiet and taciturn but not ill at ease.  
\-----

Afterwards Sansa accompanied her father as he tucked her baby brothers into their bed. 

“Tell us a bedtime story!” Hoster nodded his approval. 

“Which one?” Sansa expected Brynden to ask for Aegon The Conquer again. He did so love dragons. 

“Tell us about you and mother.” 

“Well, I was a young man only a few years older than Sansa when my father sent me on an errand to The Twins. There I stumbled upon your mother singing in the gardens. Her hair was golden and curly.” He leaned forward and playfully tugged at one of Brynden ringlets making him giggle. “She had big dimples in her cheeks and freckles on her nose, like Hoster here, and her eyes were the color of caramel.” 

“I was shocked at her beauty for everyone knows that the Freys are a weasely lot. But I soon learned that she was not one of Lord Frey’s daughter’s after all but Ryella Royce of the Vale. Lord Arwood Frey was trying to court her they were not getting along at all well.” 

A knowing smile crept over Sansa’s face. Her mother had told her that the real reason the courtship didn’t go anywhere was that Lord Arwood was having an affair with his squire. 

“So I offered to show the Royce party the beauties of the Riverlands. We traveled together and along the way, I managed to win her heart. I wrote to her father at once asking for her hand in marriage and by the time we arrived at Riverrun it was all arranged.” 

Her father failed to mention that Lord Walder Frey had been furious and took the marriage as a grave and rather personal insult. But the couple were happy and beloved by the smallfolk. Sansa drifted off into her own thoughts as her father continued to speak. She desperately wanted to have a relationship like the one her parents had had. They loved and respected each other. Most lords would have been disappointed at their eldest child being born a girl and would take out their frustrations on their lady wife. But her father loved her mother even more for giving him Sansa.

Sansa was always a bit hurt that none ever compared her to her mother. Everyone always said she was Catelyn Tully reborn. Her mother had had a carefree and jolly quality that Sansa lacked. Brynden had inherited her curls and love of mischief, Hoster had her complexion and her bubbling laughter. The only thing Sansa had inherited from her mother were her responsibilities. 

"And she loved you all very much." Edmure concluded pulling Sansa from her reverie. "Sweet dreams." Sansa kissed each of her brothers on the forehead as her father blew out the candle.  
\---  
When Sansa returned to her bedchamber she found her husband lying naked under the covers. She flushed at the intimate domesticity of the image and set about unlacing her gown. 

"My Lord,...if my lord father should...should fall in battle. Obviously, my great uncle would become regent until Brynden came of age but....well, I was wondering if..." 

"Sansa, it's late speak plainly." 

"Could we bring Hoster and Brynden to Winterfell?" 

At first he didn't say anything and Sansa panicked. 

"It's just, I'm not sure they could handle losing father then me so..." 

"Yes." 

"Really?"

"Really."

Sansa grinned as she slipped out of her gown. She may not know much about her husband's character but the more she got to know him the more she liked him.


	5. Chapter 5

Early the next morning Sansa watched her sleeping husband. The long, thick eyelashes cast shadows against his cheek, bold eyebrows softened at the moment, maybe by some pleasant dream she hoped he was in it. Jon’s whole face was slack, making him look younger, soft lips parted just a little, like an invitation. Sansa could still appreciate his strong jaw line, though, and she bent down to press a kiss to the hinge just below his ear, pausing to nuzzle the tip of her nose against his earlobe. A goofy grin spread across her face when she noticed Jon’s erection standing proudly, tenting the white sheet that lay low on his hips. Sansa let out a giggle.That had been inside her only hours before. It was still so surreal. 

She mapped the panes of Jon’s chest, the curve of muscle in his arms, fingertips tracing the veins that stood out the most, memorizing him. Jon turned his head and nuzzled the side of Sansa’s neck in return, and Sansa thought he’d woken up, but when she drew back, Jon’s eyes were still closed and a small smile playing on his lips. She felt her heart swell. This was the most peaceful and content she'd ever seen him. 

Slowly his eyes fluttered open and his blurry eyes focused on her. He let out a yawn and wrapped his arm around her waist pulling her closer. She smiled and rested her head on his chest. Suddenly he let out a groan and sat up. 

“It’s light out.” He half said half yawned while rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

Sansa yawned and nodded failing to see Jon’s point.

“I have to go do dawn drills.” He mumbled his tone grim but resigned. Now, it was Sansa’s turn to groan. 

“No, you don’t!” 

She flopped back onto her pillow annoyed. He was going off to war tomorrow. Why couldn’t they spend the little time they had together? Why couldn’t they have a cozy morning cuddling and exchanging lazy kisses? They needed to create memories to get them through all the long lonely nights ahead. 

“Yes I do.” He sighed and heaved himself out of bed obviously still groggy. Sansa sighed and sat up. It was one thing to be honorable but Jon was a slave to duty. He was going to run himself ragged.

“We’re newlyweds, your men will understand if you sleep in just this once.”

Jon shook his head as she spoke. His eyes fell to the ground as he scratched the back of his neck nervously, long lashes fanning out across the top of his slowly flushing cheeks.

“You don't understand. All those men have known me since I was small. They see me as just a boy, just Jon, just the spare.” 

Sansa reached over and silenced him with a through kiss.

“You’re not just anything.” 

He stared at her for a long moment. Then he smiled broadly.

“I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

\----  
Giving up on ever getting back to sleep, she had her handmaiden Alyce draw her a warm bath and had a nice soak. Afterwards, she returned to their bedchamber clean and refreshed. Her hair was hanging heavy and wet down her back, getting her silk robe damp. Sansa was just laying out her clothes for the day a Tully blue muslin gown inlaid with abalone shells and mother of pearl, when Jon stormed into their chambers, Ghost trotting at his heels. She watched in stunned silence as her husband tore off his doublet and tossed it carelessly across the room. 

“Jon?” 

He ignored her he yanking his shirt over his head and letting it fall to the floor. Ghost paced restless and agitated. 

“Jon!”

“Not now.” He grumbled digging through his oak chest and pulling out a thick woolen tunic. Her father followed not a moment later with her great uncle on his heels. Sansa shrank back into her chair by the hearth, tugging her robe tighter around her body.

"Jon I must say-"

"I am going riding," He said in a clipped tone, cutting Edmure off before he could begin. "I think Joffrey might need your Maester to tend to his wounds.”

She stood up and walked across the room to Jon, beyond confused.

"Wounds? Jon, what's going on?"

He looked at her for the first time since he'd walked in his eyes so dark they were almost black and sighed bitterly.

"We were discussing the news from Dragon stone and I may have lost my temper with Joffery," He admitted, shaking his head and pulling on his tunic. "and Ghost may have reacted to…."

"He set his wolf on Robert’s brat," Black Fish translated a gleeful glint in his eye. "The beast took off two of his fingers."

Sansa gasped. Her eyes dratted immediately to Ghost who looked back at her the picture of innocence. This just couldn’t be. 

“And now he’s calling for the beast’s head on a spike.” Her father said running his hands through his hair exasperated.

“Which is why Ghost and I will not return until the stormlanders leave Riverrun.” Jon declared as he threw on a fur cloak. And just like that he and Ghost marched out of her now their bedchamber slamming the door behind them.  
\----- 

Sansa only picked at her food during breakfast. Seeing her husband so angry and distant made her worry for their future. How would they ever settle argument if he ran out to sulk whenever he was upset? Would he set his wolf on the children when they got under foot? Before this morning she never would have entertained such ideas thinking them too ridiculous for words but now, now she wasn’t so sure. Plus they said war changed soldiers. Whatever darkest lay within Jon the war would bring it to the surface. The reserved young man, who slept peacefully next to her this morning, would come back to her a killer if he came back at all. 

“Stannis’s letter revealed that he has taken Dragon Stone.” Her great uncle explained talking with a mouth full of bread and quince preserves. Sansa leaned over and brushed the crumbs from his beard with a napkin. He rolled his eyes at her before continuing. 

“Prince Viserys was killed in battle and Princess Daenerys escaped but Princess Rhaenys is now being held, hostage.” 

“I suggested,” Edmure said squeezing a lemon wedge into his morning beer. “that we write to Rhaegar and tell him we wouldn’t release Rhaenys unless he abdicates, and Aegon is charged with abduction.” 

Sansa nodded at her father’s words. Rhaegar’s madness made him incredibly unpredictable but surely he would abdicate to save his daughter. If Rhaegar abdicated then Aegon would face trial by combat. The sensible thing to do would be to write to Aunt Catelyn and get Ser Jaime to fight the prince but Jon would probably insist on doing it himself. Jon would kill Aegon in the trial by combat, gods be good. Leaving Princess Arianne as Queen Regent until her newborn Aerys comes of age.

“But Joffrey wants to seize King’s Landing and take the Iron Throne for himself.” 

Sansa choked on her mint tea. 

“What? By what right?” 

“Right of conquest.” Her great-uncle scoffed before taking another drink from his flagon of autumn ale. 

“Well, he does have some Targaryen blood on his father’s side.” Sansa murmured remembering all the genealogy that Septa Haigh had drummed into her head. 

Her father frowned and stirred his porridge absently. 

“The last thing we need is a boy king if the Baratheons are to reign the crown should go to Robert.” 

“Aye, but Robert’s drinking his way to an early grave.” Black Fish said mopping up the bacon grease on his plate with a bit of crusty bread. 

“Anyway,” Edmure continued turning to Sansa and ignoring his uncle, “Joffrey said he wants to marry Rhaenys to strengthen his claim.” 

Sansa suddenly felt as if she’d been punched in the stomach. 

“But what of Arya?” 

“That’s exactly what your husband asked.” Her great uncle said while casually peeling a blood orange with his dagger.

“Joffrey laughed at him. He said that Arya was probably dead and if not…if not he didn’t want used goods.” 

Sansa was astounded. Now she could understand her husband’s outburst. Although she was still unease of his temper and wary of Ghost knowing he was capable of such violence. She could understand why Lord’s Joffery’s disgusting words would outrage Jon. First, there was the slight against his sister. Then there was the deeper issue that the Baratheons were trying to exploit the tragic injustices that had befallen the Starks as an excuse for a power grab. 

“Is there still hope? Does Arya live?” 

Her words hung heavy in the air. None answered her question.  


\------  


Sansa put on a brave face with Brynden and Hoster clinging to her legs as they watched their father leading his bannermen off to war. The sound of thousands of horses hooves galloping down the road thundering in their ears. Their great uncle had promised to look out for him but there was only so much comfort Sansa could take from that. 

Frankly, she was very irritated that Jon had not returned to see his good father off. It was a sign of disrespect and hugely insensitive. She wanted him to be there for her, just like her father was there for her mother when her father got ill, or when her favorite palfrey died. But no, he was off with his beast hunting. He must know how important this was to her. How could he not? 

“Shansha?” Brynden asked his voice more timid than usual. 

Sansa forced herself to smile and brushed the hair back from his eyes. 

“Yes, sweetling?” 

“Can we have lemon cakes?” Hoster immediately picked up at the mention of sweets. 

“I think that’s an excellent idea.” She said as she shepherded them back inside.


	6. Chapter 6

Sansa sat in her father’s solar teaching Brynden how to play the lap dulcimer while Hoster played with his little wooden knights. She couldn’t help but wonder if this was what her future at Winterfell would look like. Would she spend the rest of her days minding the children while Jon went about his business only gracing her with his presents to warm her bed? All alone, under gods who were not her own. There was a timid knock at the solar door, and her handmaiden Alyce entered. 

“Milady, Lord Stark has returned from his ride.” 

Sansa looked down and absently ran her fingers over the intricate frets of the dulcimer. She wasn’t sure what to do with this information. Should she go to him? Confront him? Did he even want to see her? For a moment the only sound was Hoster smashing his toy knights together making them joust. 

“I just thought you would want to know.” Alyce said biting her lip and hovering in the doorway. 

“Has he asked for me?” 

Alyce fiddled with the lace on her sleeves and shifted her weight from one foot to the other.

“Well, no but...” 

“Thank you, Alyce.” She said her voice clipped and turned her attention back to Brynden. She’d let him stew for a while yet.  
\----  
After an hour of play Hoster nursemaid put him down for his nap and Maester Lothar collected Brynden for his lessons. Sansa retired to the sewing room with Lady Ashara and Septa Haigh. 

Sansa looked through her box of sewing supplies picking through spools of thread and needles of every shape and size, trying to find the perfect bit of ribbon to use to make a favor for Jon. She might be annoyed at him at the moment but as his lady wife, certain things were expected of her. Finally, she settled on a strip of thick gray satin and started embroidering Ghost’s likeness. 

The other two women were hard at work mending tattered Stark banners. Septa Haigh kept making thinly veiled comments about how outrageous Lord Jon’s behavior was. Sansa knew she was just trying to support her and take her side but she wished her septa would just leave well enough alone. 

“Don’t take it personally.” Lady Ashara said giving her a reassuring smile.

“He’s taken this all very hard.” She said, threading her needle with more Stark gray.

“Jon’s a dutiful lad who never thought he’d be a rebel. Plus he and his sister were very close.” 

Sansa had never met her good sister but she remembered Robb talking about her. Arya Underfoot he called her. She was a mischievous wild child much to her lady mother’s chagrin and her lord father’s amusement. They had despaired of ever finding a match for her when Brandon’s drinking buddy Robert Baratheon suggested that she marry his heir. Robb had laughed and said that Joffrey was the only lord who could match Arya’s fiery temper. 

Septa Haigh eyed Lady Ashara curiously. 

“Were you there? At the tourney?” 

Sansa looked up from stitching a Volantis feather knot suddenly intrigued. Robb had never wanted to talk about the now infamous tourney.

“Aye, and the bards tell it all wrong. She didn’t swoon or give him her favor.” 

Ashara let out a bitter laugh shaking her head, her needle flying over the banner she was working on. 

“She did enjoy how angry it made Joffery but, mainly she was just annoyed.” 

“So, she was not in love with the prince?” 

Lady Stark’s violet eyes flashed with contempt as she openly glared at the Septa. Septa Haigh flushed and turned back to her needlework, uncomfortable under the heat of the other woman’s gaze. 

“Gods no! The crownlanders like to spin it into a tale of forbidden love, the Sliver Prince, and his Winter Rose, and the Martells paint her as the she-wolf temptress.”

She knew Ashara was right. South of the Neck rumors about the couple ran wild and they all cast Arya as the wicked vixen. Just last week her septa had told her about a rumor that the Stark girl had cast a spell on the prince using ancient blood magic. She and Septa Haigh exchanged a look and the older women shifted in her seat looking slightly abashed. 

“But all of The North knows she was kidnapped. On the night she despaired her direwolf Nymeria was drugged with a sleeping potion. Arya would never leave without Nymeria.” 

A poisoned direwolf? Sansa had not heard that part of the story. When Robb had read of her abduction he had said that they had last been spotted at boarding a boat at White Harbor. Her Great Uncle thought that she was probably on one of the Shield Islands or the Arbor since the Reach was full of Targaryen loyalists. After the capture of Dragon’s Stone, Aegon would surely return from where ever he had stashed Arya to defend his father’s kingdom. 

“I’m worried that Jon might not have the stomach for what must be done.” 

Sansa felt insulted on Jon’s behalf. How was it possible that his own family would misjudge him so? No, wonder he was so eager to prove himself at every turn.

“Jon seems a brave man. He may not be fond of killing but…” 

“That’s not what I mean. The rebels best bet of finding her is to capture Aegon and torture until he reveals all.” 

Septa Haigh tutted and looked thoroughly scandalized. Sansa shivered at the thought. Honorable men did not torture. And yet what other choice did they have? Was Jon to spend the rest of his days combing Westeros for his sister? Seven hells, she might not even be in Westeros anymore. What was that famous Bolton saying? A naked man has few secrets but a flayed man has none? Sansa couldn’t imagine the same young man who kissed her breathless and who looked at her like she was the maid reborn, hurting anyone.  
\-----  
Supper came and went and Jon still hadn’t emerged from their rooms. 

Sansa entered her bedchamber and discovered Jon staring out the window lost in his own thoughts. He carried himself like a haggard old man, the weight of the seven kingdoms resting squarely on his shoulders. 

She bite her lip, there was that ache in her chest, she did not know him well but she knew him to be honorable and kind, and he did not deserve the sorrows that life has visited upon him; and suddenly, she could not bear for him to stand vigil at the window alone. He should not be alone. And yet she was still angry with him. He had slighted her father and Joffrey who was technically kin to her through her Aunt’s marriage, and worst still he’d ignored her all day on what could very well be their last day together. She didn’t want to fight with her husband on the eve of his departure but she also didn’t want to pretend nothing had happened. 

“Did you enjoy your day of solitude, my lord?” Her words came out far sharper than she’d intended but she won’t take them back. 

He let out a long bitter sigh. 

“I’m sorry I’ve neglected you, my lady. I…I have no excuse.” 

His voice was rougher and deeper than normal. Had he been crying? And just like that her angry vanished and she deflated. A heavy tense silence filled the room until Sansa couldn't take it anymore. 

“My father told me.” She burst out her voice breathy and high.

“My lady?” He inquired, turning to face. He was furrowing his brow, and the weariness on his face aged him. He was too young for all this, well they both were really. 

“He told me what Lord Joffrey said and I’m sorry.” 

The muscles in Jon's forearms contracted and she marveled that she could see the movement through the sleeves of his plain tunic. He clenched his jaw and closed his eyes forcing back tears.

“You have nothing to be sorry for.” 

“I’m sorry that you are in this position.” She said walking towards him. “I’m sorry that your allies aren’t as honorable as you are.” 

“Mostly I’m sorry that you feel like you’re alone.” She lightly caressed his temple, thumb pressing against the creases near his eye, as though she could smooth away the worry lines and take away the pain in that manner. If only it were so easy.

“I wish you did not have to go,” She said, and was surprised to find how much she meant the words, her fingers tightening on his bicep. 

She did not want this to be the end when it was scarcely the beginning, what little it was for now. His lips twist in a sort of self-deprecating smile. He swallowed thickly and Sansa’s eyes followed his bobbing Adam's apple. She snaked her arms around his neck.

“I must.” He replied gruffly. She nodded understanding full well. Family, Duty, Honor. But it was still unfair. 

“I know, but I wish you didn’t.” She said with a sigh burying her face in his neck. Jon hadn’t bothered shaving that morning and Sansa secretly loved the tickle of his rough stubble on his smooth skin. 

“You deserve better than this.” He said wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her close. The “better than me” went unsaid but Sansa heard it loud and clear.  
She let her lips drag over his stubbly face and a shiver raced down her spine. 

“So do you.” She whispered.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took a while. It always takes me longer to write sex scenes. So this is just going to be from Sansa's P.O.V. but Arya will definitely come into play more. Oh, and don't worry Sansa will have plenty going on even with Jon out of the picture. As always comments and kudos are very much appreciated.

“I’m such a fool.” Jon mumbled playing with her hair, combing through it with his fingers. “Wasting the whole day.” 

“Our last day.” Sansa said her tone both bitter and wistful. She leaned in to kiss his neck but he pulled back. He looked at her with something dark in those big somber eyes of his something wild. 

“No, not our last day.” “We will have many more I promise you.” 

Then quick as a flash he hooked his arms beneath her knees, picking her up, and pressing her up against the cold stone wall. Jon was struggling with her skirts, trying to get them high enough so he could lower her smallclothes around her knees and he could reach her mound. She knew this was very unseemly, throw up against a wall with a man rutting between her legs like some serving wench. Everyone knew that a lord husband only coupled with his lady wife in their marriage bed. Anything else would be positively wicked. 

Yet her mouth was on his again, her tongue parting his lips eagerly, making him moan into their kiss while his fingers reached inside her undergarments and started rubbing her wet nub, making her whimper against him. 

“What…What are you doing?” She panted. 

“Not wasting any more time.” He said frantically unlacing his breeches.

Sansa shivered at the pure need in his voice. She pulled Jon back in for a kiss, pressing her lithe body flush against his. She could feel his leaking manhood pressed against her stomach, smearing fluid on her beautiful blue gown. It would lead an embarrassing stain but right now she didn’t care. 

He pushed her smallclothes down to her knees while she wiggled free of them and stepped out of her wet undergarment. Next she knew, Jon’s hard manhood was pressing between her wet folds. Growling, he impaled her with one rough push, making her gasp in unexpected pleasure at the sensation his stiff length filling her up. He started thrusting in and out building a steady rhythm. 

Sansa tipped her head back against the wall, her eyes fluttering closed and, her long white neck exposed. Her aunts had been so right about benefits of experience, she thought. Each time she and Jon coupled, he lasted longer, and got more creative. Plus she’d come up with some tricks of her own. He let his head drop forward to her warm neck where he nuzzled and inhaled the scent of her. 

“Gods you smell amazing.”

Jon ran the tip of his tongue over her hammering pulse, before gently nipped at her, suckling on her soft skin and branding her as his. His marks would remain long after his departure. 

Sansa started squeezing her muscles around his manhood, making him groan into her collarbone and bucking and grinding against each thrust. Then Jon shifted and suddenly he was putting pressure on something new, something that made her shake all around him, something that sent a hot stab of pleasure course through her body.  


“Gods, yes! Right there!” She gasped raising legs and wrapping them around his waist by digging her heel into the small of his back.  


His hips started to snap against her harder, faster driving his manhood to kept hitting that wonderful place inside her. He started chanting her name, his movements becoming more and more erratic and rough. 

“Sansa, Sansa, Sansa!”

And just like that, she tipped over the edge and was engulfed in a whirlwind of pleasure.

\--------

The morning of Jon’s departure Sansa awoke alone. Cursing dumb dawn drills, she yawned and let her mind turn to last night. Their lovemaking had been desperate and furious. Afterward, they would bask in the warmth of each others' presents talking in hushed tones and exchanging lazy kisses until they drifted off to sleep. Then she’d wake up with either Jon’s manhood pressing against her backside hard as Valyrian steel, or he’d be between her legs savoring her like a lush winter’s peach. It was as if, both of them were making a futile effort to make up the nights together they were about to miss.

All these unladylike thoughts were leaving her flushed and tingling. Sansa busied herself pursuing her various dresses, trying to pick the prettiest one when she stumbled about it. She felt her heart sink to the souls of her slippers. There it was sky blue with golden canaries embroidered flying along her neck and shoulder. The last time she’d worn it was the day Robb left Riverrun for King’s Landing. She could almost see him now, with his cocky grin and twinkling eyes. He had been so confident making japes, calling himself the Dragonslayer. His bravado put her at ease for how could anyone as brave and true as her Robb fail? She felt as though she was living in a song. 

That was only a month ago yet so much had changed. She felt guilt gnawing at her stomach. Was she betraying Robb with Jon? No, Robb would understand surely. She made a mental note to go to the Sept and pray to the Crone to give Robb’s spirit the wisdom to see that neither she nor his brother meant to dishonor him or his memory. 

But there was something much bigger than guilt that clawed at Sansa robbing her of her peace of mind as she performed her beauty regime and prepared for the day. This was just so eerily similar to that day, the last day she’d seen Robb. Just like before she was dressing up getting ready to bid farewell to her beloved, an honorable young man bound by duty to throw himself in danger’s path. What would make this time different? How did she know that Jon would succeed where Robb had failed? The horrifying truth was that she didn’t.

In the end, she wore her hair down, to hide Jon’s love bites, and put on the sapphire and opal diadem her Aunt Catelyn had given her for her last name day. She laced herself into a sea green silk bilaut with a scooped neck. It contrasted nicely with her copper hair and made her eyes pop.  
\----

The courtyard was filled with the lords of the North and their squires, hustling and bustling, sharpening their swords and packing their saddlebags. Small Jon Umber was petting Mormont’s bay mare and shamelessly flirting with the lady knight. Ramsay Snow kept barking orders at his bedraggled squire who was running about like a chicken with its head cut off. 

She spotted Jon standing by his horse and talking to his aunt Lady Ashara in hushed tones. He looked so handsome all deck out like this: a leather doublet and a cloak lined with shadow cat fur, his broadsword, and dagger strapped to his side. 

Ghost was the first to notice her arrival, his ears perked up and his long fluffy tail started to wag. Jon’s eyes lite up when he saw her walking towards him and he dipped his head in a little bow. 

“My lady.”

“My lord, I made something for you.” She handed him the long gray ribbon she’d embroidered with her favor. He looked at it running his calloused fingers over her intricate and painstaking stitching. 

“Is that Ghost?” 

She nodded, she’d spent hours getting the albino direwolf just right and had decided to depict him running alongside a the Red Fork with a trout in his mouth. 

“I dipped it in my perfume so it will smell like me.” She said sheepishly, remembering how erotic he found her scent. 

He lifted it to his nose and inhaled greedily sniffing it. His eyes fluttered closed and his chapped lips broke into a smile. 

“Thank you.” He said tucking it into his jerkin for safe keeping. 

Sansa took a deep breath to calm herself and hold back the tears. She would not cry in front of him. She was a woman grown, after all. Sensing her distress, Jon took her hands in his and squeezed them. She wanted to ask him to be a craven, to avoid danger at all costs and to try and settle this with the least amount of violence possible. But he was a Stark, taught to value his honor more than his life. 

“Please come back.” She croaked out. His eyes softened. 

“Sansa,” 

“I know you must do your duty but…” 

But think of me! Think of our future, our family! She thought. Isn’t that worth more than glory? He took his hand from hers and twisted it into her hair, pulling her pulling her into a firm possessive kiss. He lingered long enough to draw the attention of many his lords, and a cheer went up around the yard when he finally released her, making Sansa turn as red as her hair.  
He mounted his palomino stallion and called out. 

"Farewell for now, my lady." 

She watched helplessly as he and his bannermen rode off, to face not one but two mad dragons. 

“Take heart,” Lady Ashara said encouragingly. “Your husband will not die when he has so much to live for.” 

Sansa wanted to say something but there was a sour knot in her throat.


	8. Chapter 8

1 month 

Over the next fortnight Sansa tried to keep as busy as possible seeing to her father’s duties with the help of his steward Edwyn Pryce, Alyce’s father. Lady Ashara had decided to stay at Riverrun since it was too dangerous for her to travel alone and they could not spare any men to escort her back to Winterfell. She had to say she was glad of the company. She knew that many of the rebels didn’t trust Lady Ashara since Dorne supported the Targaryens and her older brother was in the King’s Guard, but Sansa admired her finding the whole thing tragically romantic. 

Plus it was good to have someone from her new family around. She told Sansa all about her good brothers, Bran the climber with a taste for scary stories just like Brynden and Rickon who was as savage as a wildling and who would probably scare Hoster silly. Her brothers’ spirits had darkened after the departure of their father and beloved great uncle but Sansa tried to keep them occupied. Brynden was showing great talent with the dulcimer, and Sansa was starting to teach Hoster the alphabet. They were both rather taken with Lady Ashara, Brynden had always idolized her brother Ser. Arthur and Hoster liked to listen to her tales of Dorne. 

\------

Sansa was coming back from inspecting a new bridge when she was greeted by a grinning Alyce with Brynden clinging to her skirts. 

“Milady, a messenger’s arrived with news of your father.” 

She found the messenger, a local lad named Addam, in the kitchen sitting around a long oak table with Maester Luthor, Edwyn Pryce and Ser Goodwin , her father’s master at arms. They were all eating salt fish and drinking ale. 

“My lady, wonderful news!” Ser Goodwin cried his deep booming voice filling the room, as ale dripped down his face and stained his huge silver beard. 

“Your father has had his first victory!” 

“Truly?” She asked turning to Addam for confirmation. 

“Aye, milady.” He replied nodding his head animatedly. “We snuck up on them, the loyalist forces that is, at Summerhall. They were planning on marching on Storm’s End, you see. Brienne of Tarth slew Randyll Tarly and Lord Robert knighted her for it.” 

Sansa remembered Brienne of Tarth, she was the tallest woman she’d ever seen. She had refused to dance at Sansa’s wedding feast. Great Uncle Brynden seemed to have taken a shine to her but she’d spent the whole meal talking of Lord Renly, who was holding down Storm’s End. Sansa was happy for her and hoped that mayhaps her fellow soldiers would treat her with more respect now that she was a lady knight. 

The master at arms clapped young Addam on the back and nearly knocked him off his chair. “The Loyalist have lost a brilliant tactician.” 

“His heir, Samwell, declared for the rebels.” Addam continued. 

Sansa bounced on the balls of her feet. This was brilliant news! A big victory this early on might convince Uncle Tywin to join their side. 

“Aye, word is he’s as wide as he is tall and craven to boot.” Ser Goodwin snorted. He and Edwyn exchanged a knowing look. Maester Luthor furrowed his caterpillar eyebrows and took a long swig from his flagon. 

“I overheard some of his men calling him Ser.Piggy.” Addam added making a cluster of kitchen maids giggle. He blushed all the way down to his neck clearly not used to the attentions of women. 

“Even so it is a great blow to the Tyrells to lose such a fine bannerman.” Edwyn pointed out. 

Maester Luthor nodded sagely and ran his hand over his head flatting the few wisps of gray hair he had left. 

“What’s next?” Sansa asked.“Are they heading back?” 

“Well, they meet with Renly at Storm’s End and it was decided that the Baratheon troops will march on King’s Landing, while Lord Black Fish will march down to Dorne. However, Lord Edmure will return with some of his men to ensure the protection of the Riverlands.”

She thanked the warrior and the crone that they would not go undefended. They had been left with some men but definitely not enough to stop the full rage of the dragon. 

“Will they be stationed by the western border?” Edwyn asked.

All eyes turned to Addam. Lord Tywin had declared himself neutral even though he was giving gold to the rebel forces. The small folk were worried that if they started to lose Tywin would try and prove his loyalty to the crown by sacking the Riverlands. Her Great Uncle said that her Aunt Cat had the old lion on too tight a leash for that but others were not so confident. 

“Aye.” 

Everyone in the kitchen gave a collective sigh of relief. Sansa trusted and loved her aunt. Her sons, Damon, Tybolt and Gerold were good lads, men really, but the rest of the Lannisters put self-preservation and ambition before honor and duty. 

Sansa said a quick pray that her father would be back at Riverrun before Brynden’s seventh name day. 

“Is father coming home?” Sansa turned around and spotted Hoster his hands and face covered in honey. 

“Not quite sweetling but he’ll be closer.” She said trying to appear cheerful. “And another thing no more sneaking sweets you’ll spoil your supper.” 

Hoster shot her an incredulous look. 

“I didn’t!”  
\---- 

2 months

Sansa made it her business to write letters of inquiry to Braavosi justiciars, and Myrish magistrates asking if they had seen anyone matching Arya’s description. Was it likely that Arya was in Essos? No, but they needed to pursue all avenues available to them. After all Princess Daenerys was said to be in exile somewhere in Essos. For all, they knew she and Arya could be hiding in the very same mance. So far she’d only heard from a Qartheen man, Xaro Xhaon Daxos, who said he would track Arya down for her if she agreed to marry him. Still, she forced herself to remain hopeful.

She was in the rookery sending of another batch of inquiry letters, this time to Volantis, as well as a strongly worded refusal to Ser. Daxos when a raven swooped in delivering a letter plopping it at her feet. The raven, Hoster had named him Ser.Feather perched on the window still and opened his beak begging for a treat. Sansa let him eat sunflower seeds out of her palm and studied the letter. Her stomach flipped when she noticed the seal, twin towers pressed into gray wax. It was from the Twin. Sansa abhorred Walder Frey. The man was not capable of courtesy. She opened it already suspicious of its contents. 

Little Lady, 

I’d like to offer any of my kinswomen up to as a future bride for young Brynden.  
I would remind you that although I’ve sworn an oath to your father  
I’ve also sworn an oath to the king.  
By the way when your new young man makes you a widow, just know that there’ll always be room for you at The Twins.

Walder Frey

Sansa’s first impulse was to tear the letter to pieces. She stormed out of the rookery back inside. Walder Frey was a bitter prickly old man with a chip on his shoulder the size of Harrenhal. When Edmure stole Arwood’s betrothed he’d made a powerful and vengeful enemy in his grandfather. After his last wife had died Lord Frey had asked for Sansa’s hand in marriage. Her father had said no, much to Sansa’s relief, but the refusal had made him furious and denying him again would only add fuel to the fire. 

She maneuvered through the halls of the keep toward her solar. Even though Lord Frey was one of her father’s bannerman there was no counting on his support, men like him didn’t know the meaning of honor or loyalty. He had many men, men the rebellion needed if they were to win, and he knew that. It made her sick thinking of that duplicitous old man trying to benefit from a bloody civil war. 

She opened the door to her solar and found, Lady Ashara sitting on a settee, thoroughly engrossed in a letter marked with the roaring Giant seal of House Umber.

“A raven from the battlefield?” 

Ashara nodded not looking up from the page. 

Sansa’s heart sunk. She sat down at her desk and sharpened her quill angrily. During the first month of their separation, she’d send Jon a raven every week, and he still hadn’t replied to any of them. She was disappointed but she had been tried to take it in stride. This, however, pushed her over the limit. Great Jon Umber and Lady Ashara weren’t even good friends yet he made time for her and kept her informed while Sansa’s husband left her completely in the dark. It wasn’t fair! 

She plucked a piece of parchment out of her desk and picked out a pot of Tully blue ink. Sometimes she feared that her husband thought of her as nothing more than an obligation and a bed warmer. Sansa sighed and pushed those thoughts to the back of her mind concentrating on the task at hand. Sansa wrote that she and her father would not be arranging a marriage for Brynden until he was much older but that they would be more than happy to consider any Frey women that he thought would suit. She even offered to foster some of his great grandsires to soften the blow. Hopeful, they would make good playmates for Brynden and Hoster. She proofread the letter and was satisfied. She wasn’t acquiescing completely but she was trying to compromise and make him feel heard and respect. 

She remembered how Aunt Cat and Aunt Lysa used to always mock the Freys, all slumped shoulders, sour faces and beady dead eyes. Her mother would always go quiet when the Freys were mentioned. She had a sad far off look in her eye. Once later when her aunts had gone to bed and her mother was brushing her head before bed Sansa had gone up the nerve to ask her about it. She said that the Twins was a sad place, a place with no love. Sansa remembered being horrified at the thought. So on second thought she added that she would also be more than happy to take one of his maiden daughters on as a lady in waiting. That way she could save a young girl from a place without love. She'd like to think that her mother would have been proud. 

She looked over at Lady Ashara curiosity gnawing at her. 

“What does Lord Umber say?” 

“Jon’s men have fought bravely so far.” She replied her tone nonchalant, almost bored. 

“He has captured younger sons of House Chester, House Hewett, and House Serry and they’re all claiming to have Arya hidden away in their various holdfasts.” 

Sansa chewed on the inside of her cheek frustrated on Jon’s behalf. She knew that all he really wanted to do was comb Westeros until he found his sister but duty dictated that he must avenge the death of his father and brother, and it was impossible to do both at the same time. 

“Plus he has more to worry about than just loyalists, the other night Ramsay Snow snuck into Dacey Mormont’s tent and tried to rape her.” 

Sansa gasped in horror but the older lady had a glint in her eyes. 

“She cut off his cock with her dagger, marched over to Jon and demanded the bastard’s head.”

She was stunned and repulsed by the vivid mental image. Still, she admired Dacey’s bravery. Ashara chuckled and continued.

“Great Jon thinks his eldest son is a bit smitten with her.” 

“I think she’d make a fine Lady of The Last Hearth.” Sansa said, imagining the warrior couple fighting off wilding raiders together. It was rather romantic. 

“It’ll be young Jon’s first time executing a man.” 

Gods, that’s right. Sansa had forgotten that the Stark’s observed the old ways and used no executors. The man who passed the sentence must swing the sword. Jon had executed one of his own men. The very thought made her want to hold him tight. She wanted to be there for him and comfort him but how could she when he wouldn’t even write her back.


	9. Chapter 9

3 months---

Her moon blood had never been regular so Sansa thought nothing of it when she did not bleed for two moon turns. But when her appetite changed she took notice. Being a Riverland’s girl Sansa had always loved seafood. Oysters, lamprey pie, fish tarts, and trout wrapped in bacon were all comfort foods to her but recently they all turned her stomach. Suddenly she carved poultry, quails drowned in butter, spiced pigeon pie, stuffed goose in mulberry sauce, and ducks basted in sweet orange wine.

At first Sansa ignored it not wanting to start a fuss over nothing but after a fortnight of this she developed a sudden tenderness in her breasts, so she went to Maester Luthor. He said that she was with child but told her to wait until the moon had completed its turn to send word to her husband. 

That was the day the red comet appeared, like a giant wound in the sky. Ser. Goodwin said it was Tully red, but Edric Rivers, the horse master, whispered it was Targaryen scarlet. Septa Haigh said it was the final flaming breath of the dragon, the death rattle of a failing dynasty. Lady Ashara said that it was the sign of a blood bath, and Sansa feared she might be right. 

She rubbed her flat stomach in contemplation. It was strange that she was now having Jon’s babe when she’d spent so long daydreaming about having his brother’s children. She and Robb had picked out names for their future children, Brandon for their first boy and Jonquil for their first girl. She’d imagined their son Brandon having Robb’s chocolate brown eyes and ease smile with her flaming hair. She’d pictured little Jonquil with Robb’s rich brown locks looking up at her with a pair of bright baby blues. 

She brushed the tears from her eyes and took a deep shaky breath. To make her future with Jon work she would have to put her memories of Robb aside, but it was so difficult when they were so alike yet so different. A cruel part of her wondered if she would have been happier as Robb’s lady wife? Would he have replied to her letters? Would he have loved her more? She would never know. 

\------  
The household of Riverrun stood in the courtyard waiting to greet the Frey entourage. Brynden and Hoster had gotten all dressed up in their finest surcoats and were very excited. Sansa was already looking on the Freys in a positive light since this was the first time either of her brothers had smiled since their father left. 

Honestly, Sansa was nervous. She’d dressed in a velvet gown of Tully blue, with winter roses in her hair and wore her mother’s rune necklace for luck. She stood straight as a post trying to be dignified and strong. She’d hosted her father’s bannermen before but never without her lord father by her side making japes and keeping everyone at ease. Also, how was she going to command these wards respect when she wasn’t all that much older than them? 

The portcullis opened with a loud creak revealing their new guests. First came a grim sworn shield carried a white peace banner along with the sigil of the Towers. Trotting behind him were two young boys riding identical bay palfreys, one was a small fox-faced boy about seven or eight years old, the other red-faced and plump. Beside them on a chestnut mare rode a maiden about Sansa’s age with long brown hair delicate feature and big sad eyes. 

“Presenting” bellowed the sworn shield. “the grandson of Walder Frey Lord of the Crossing...” 

“They call me little Walder.” Interrupted the pot-bellied boy. Up close Sansa couldn’t help but notice how beady the boy’s eyes were. 

“This is my cousin Big Walder.” 

"And this" continued the thoroughly annoyed sworn shield. “is Lord Frey’s daughter Roslin.” He gestured to the small brunette maid by his side. She kept her head down and won’t meet Sansa’s eye. 

“All of you are most welcome.” Sansa said congenitally. “I hope that Riverrun will become a second home to you.”  


Out of the corner of her eye she thought she saw Roslin smile. 

\------

Sansa had stopped sending Jon letters when it became clear he wasn’t going to reply. She’d put off writing him about their baby but now she needed to tell him.  
She picked out a fresh sheet of parchment and dipped her quill in a bottle of Tully blue ink. 

My lord,  


I have spoken to Maester Luthor and he says that I am with child. 

She paused her quill hovering over the parchment. What else was she to say? Should she tell him about the Freys? About how Hoster felt left out now that Brynden had older boys to play with? About how sad-eyed Roslin was slowly but surely been coming out of her shell with encouragement from both her and Lady Ashara? 

No, if he cared what she thought or felt he would have written her back before. She signed her name folded the letter in half and sealed it with her father’s seal. 

4 months----

Sansa was going over the garrison’s grain rations while Lady Ashara and Ser Goodwin played cyvasse when Maester Luthor burst into the study. 

“My lady, urgent news from the front.” 

Sansa panicked at the thought of Jon being injured or dead. Lady Ashara reached out and took her hand. 

“The Knights of the Vale and the Baratheon forces ambushed the Tyrells at Duskendale. Lord Robert went into battle drunk fell off his horse and was trampled to death.”

There was a moment of tense silence as they all tried to absorb the news. Ser Goodwin shook his head mournfully. 

“He was a great warrior in his day.” 

Sansa was stunned. This meant that Joffrey was now liege lord of all the Storm Lands, and eighth in line to the Iron Throne. She shuddered to think of what that vile spoilt lordling would do with his new power. 

“What else do they say?” Edwyn Pryce asked pulling on his grey whiskers anxiously. 

Maester Luthor pursued the rest of the letter. 

“Before Robert’s death he maimed the Tyrell heir, smashing his leg with that war hammer of his.” A wistful smile played across Ser Goodwin’s face and he raised his flagon of ale in salute before downing it in three giant glugs. 

“Ser Harrold Hardyng slew Horas Redwyne, and Quentyn Martell has been taken captive.” 

At the mention of the Dornishman Sansa’s eyes flitted to Lady Ashara. Her violet eyes turned dark and bowed her head playing idly with the dragon piece of the cyvasse set. 

“Do you know him?” 

She clenched her jaw and nodded with a defiant glint in her eye. 

“He’s a good lad, sensible. Elia’s always been very fond of him.” 

It was easy to forget at times that the current Lady Stark had been a lady in waiting to the Queen. Sansa was once again struck by how hard this must be for her. It was easy for her to demonize King Rhaegar but Lady Ashara knew his wife. It must be heartbreaking to know the more human side of the monstrous dragon. 

“The Prince is being brought to Riverrun for questioning.” Maester Luthor added. That got everyone’s attention. They had just got the Freys settled in now they had to host a royal hostage.

“He will be treated well, I promise you.” Sansa said earnestly. “And I’m sure it will be nice for him to see a familiar face.” 

Lady Ashara studied her face for a moment, looking for any hint of dishonesty then smiled. 

“Thank you.” 

Quentyn had grown up with Prince Aegon, they had earned their oils together. Mayhaps he could provide insight into his nephew’s madness.  
\--------

Brynden had his seventh name day. Sansa presented him with a fine tabard made of red and blue velvet embossed with the silver jumping trout of their house. He looked like a Tully banner come to life. Brynden gasped when Edwyn Pryce presented him a wooden sword in a scabbard of red and blue. He held his head high bursting with pride and play fought with Big Walder. 

They swam in the red fork. Brynden raced with the Walders, swimming upstream like a slippery pink otter, and jumping from rocks giggling whenever he broke the surface of the water. Meanwhile, little Hoster sat on the riverbank kicking his feet and splashing happily, sucking on a piece of honeycomb. 

At supper they had all Brynden’s favorites silver goblets of iced honeyed milk, pepper crab soup, a suckling pig roasted with apples and nutmeg, and for desert lemon cakes frosted with sugar. For just one day they pretended that everything was normal, that they weren’t in the middle of a civil war, that they weren’t in danger. It felt wonderful. 

\------ 

After she’d tucked Brynden and Hoster into bed she was heading to bed when a voice called out to her. 

“Lady Sansa.” She turned and saw old Maester Luthor hobbling down the hall slow as dripping molasses. 

“This just came for you.” He said handing her a letter. She took it from him puzzled. When she turned it over revealing the Stark seal her heart skipped a beat. 

Finally! She ripped the letter open. 

My lady,  


I miss you.  


Jon


	10. Chapter 10

5 months ----

They were breaking their fast when Maester Luthor received the letter. He rushed in as fast as his short bowed legs would carry him waving the missive about.

“My lady, urgent news from the Crownlands.” He wheezed. He took several deep breathes before continuing. “Prince Aegon lead the Loyalist forces in a sneak attack last night. The Prince slit Lord Joffrey's throat.” 

A stunned silence fell over the table. Sansa wasn’t sure how she felt, Joffrey has an important figure in the rebellion but he was also horrid. She’d have to send Aunt Cat a condolence letter he was her grandson after all, even if it was only by marriage. This would make his younger brother heir Tom or Tommen, Sansa wasn’t sure what his name was.

Hoster ignored the news and went back to pouring honey into his porridge but Brynden frowned and looked up at her his big blue eyes inquisitive. 

“Which one is Joffery?” he asked licking the raspberry jam off his sticky fingers. Sansa wasn’t sure how to answer that question. 

“Was he the anger blonde one? The one who didn’t like Ghost.” 

“Who didn’t like Ghost?” Hoster asked angrily on the direwolf’s behave. The four-year-old had his Great Uncle’s temper his freckled cheeks were already flushed with anger.

“It doesn’t matter sweetling,” Lady Ashara reassured him smoothing his hair. “Ghost didn’t like him either.” 

That seemed to satisfy both brothers.They went back to their breakfast unperturbed, if Ghost didn’t like him then clearly he didn’t matter. It reminded Sansa of what her mother used to say about beasts being better judges of character than men.

“There’s more bad news.” Maester Luthor said before turning to the Freys. “Your Uncle Stevron was slain in battle.” 

Sansa turned to the Freys prepared to give them comfort and support but the three of them were stony faced. Big Walder looked slack jawed and vacant as usual. Little Walder seemed to be a million miles away, contemplating his own navel, while Roslin simply busied herself playing with her mousey brown hair. 

“Does this mean Uncle Aeon is the heir now?” Big Walder asked. 

“Don’t be stupid!” Little Walder snorted rolling his eyes and sneering.“the sons of the first son come before the sons of the second, Ser Reiman is next in line then Ser Gerold then Black Walder and Petyr pimples and Aeon and all his sons.” 

Sansa’s eyes darted to Roslin who was studying the floor intently and picking at a bug bite on her elbow. Did they honestly feel nothing? One of their kin had died and they genuinely didn’t seem to care. Mayhaps her mother was wrong and it wasn’t that The Twins was a place without love, mayhaps it was the Freys. Mayhaps they were all incapable of love of any sort.

“Ryman is old too and he’s had bad stomach pains for years. He’ll probably be the next to go.”

“You ought to ashamed of yourself!” Sansa exclaimed. With that, she marched off to the sept her pale blue skirts billowing behind her. 

\-------  
Sansa sat weeping in front of the statue of the Mother when Lady Ashara glided into the sept, a vision in lavender silks. Sansa had been feeling self-conscious around Ashara lately. She was becoming more and more bloated by the day while Ashara was still a legendary beauty, graceful and elegant at all times. It was depressing being around a woman who was twice her age yet still twice as beautiful. 

“You know, even though we suffered severe losses we’re still winning.” She said her voice echoing in the empty Sept. 

Sansa took out a handkerchief and blew her nose. It made a loud unpleasant noise and she grimaced. She hated when she cried, her skin got all blotchy and her voice became frail and whiney.Her good aunt paced the floor her footfalls echoing throughout the sept. 

“Having Aegon with them may boost the loyalists’ morale but King’s Landing is surrounded by rebel forces. Rhaegar has been dragging out negotiations over the release of his daughter, it’s obvious that he’s just stalling and doesn’t know what to do.” 

She knew the older woman was speaking the truth yet she couldn’t take comfort from her words. 

“Do you think the war will be over soon?” Sansa asked wiping away her tears and sniffing. She looked up and noticed that annoyingly Ashara’s striking eyes looked even more beautiful in the candlelight.

“I don’t know but it’s definitely coming to a head.” 

“I assume that you’re not mourning the loss of Joffrey Baratheon.” 

She was right, Sansa wasn’t crying for Joffery. Lately, she’d been filled with so many emotions it was just too much. She kept thinking about Jon’s letter, his six short words churning around and around in her mind. 

“What uum…err..” Sansa flushed filled with self-loathing. Proper ladies didn’t stutter or stammer. It showed weakness and bad breeding. 

“How did Jon react? When he was told that we were to marry?” 

A sad little smile crept over Lady Ashara’s face. 

“I think he was afraid of being a disappointment.” 

Sansa turned to her confused. Afraid was the last thing she’d excepted to hear coming out of her mouth. Annoyed, maybe, anxious, definitely but afraid? Afraid of disappointing her? What kind of man was afraid of disappointing a stranger?

“Robb inherited Brandon’s wolf’s blood, so did Arya and Rickon. Jon is more like my Ned, a quiet wolf.” 

There was a wistful glint in Ashara’s eye when she spoke of her husband. She fiddled with the star shaped pendant hanging from her neck.

“Brandon loved all his children but Jon and Bran ended up being left out sometimes. So, he got it in his head that Robb was better than him, more lovable.” 

She felt guilt sweep through her for all the times she’d compared the brothers. She hadn’t known that Robb was the favorite, although she could have guessed Brandon and Robb acted more like brothers than father and son. Still, she hadn’t known it was an issue for him, something he was insecure about. Robert hadn’t been more loveable than Jon, just… different. Easier, mayhaps, but not better. He wasn’t the Young Wolf, but he was handsome with his steely grey eyes and plush pouting lips. She would have imagined that he’d have plenty of admirers. That was another thing that had been needling at her. 

“Did um…did Jon have anyone back at Winterfell, some sweetheart?” She asked twisting her skirts in her hands nervously.

Jon had seemed very much a maid on their wedding night but mayhaps he had some unconsummated love. Mayhaps he resented her for having to give up his paramour back in Winterfell to fulfill his duty. It would explain why he was so distant, why he’d only written to her once. Her good aunt sat down next to her and shook her head bemused. 

“No, Jon was always uncomfortable around women excepting family of course. Now, what’s going on with you?”

Sansa was silent for a moment. Where should she even start? "I think I might miss Jon.” 

She sighed shaking her head in frustration, blinking back more tears, yet another knot building in her throat. 

"It makes no sense I know. You can't miss someone you hardly know."

"I barely knew Ned when I married him," Ashara said with a cavalier shrug. Sansa looked up and cocked her head to the side, confused. Robb had told her that his aunt and uncle were a love match. Eddard loved his beautiful dornish wife even though she could never give him children. 

"I danced with him all night then his father spoke to my father and the next thing I knew we were getting married. The morning after he was off fighting the Ironborn.”

She let out a wistful sigh and shook her head the statue of the Mother casting a shadow across her face. “It is not easy sending a man into battle after you've lain with him."

Sansa took a short, shaky breath, rubbed her eyes with the heels of her hands. "How do you bear it?" 

"You don’t have a choice." Ashara replied softly twirling her star encrusted bracelet around her delicate wrist. 

She stood up and brushed the imaginary dust from her skirts. "Come on, let’s visit the Warrior and pray for your Jon.” 

\-------------

“Dornishmen are liars and silver tongued devils.” Ser Goodwin declared slamming his huge fist down on the table.

“I don’t want him anywhere near my Alyce. His uncle’s fathered eight bastards.” Edwyn Pryce said rubbing his shiny bald head. 

Sansa couldn’t help but feel sorry for the poor man, he spent half his time guarding his only daughter’s maidenhead from all the local boys that followed her around like lost puppies. The last thing he needed was some tall dark and handsome lothario coming to Riverrun and making his job harder. 

“That’s a good point actually. We shouldn’t only let him come in contact with male servants. We don’t want him getting babes on all the scullery maids.” 

“We have to be firm, show him that his noble birth will not protect him.” Edywn said, “We should keep him in the dungeons.” Ser Goodwin nodded his approval, Maester Luthar sat in silence nervously playing with his heavy chains. 

“I think we should lock him in the eastern tower.”

As soon as the words were out of her mouth she could tell that none of the men approved of the idea. 

“It’s secluded and we’d keep him under constant guard.” She added defensively. 

Ser Goodwin and Edwyn exchanged a knowing look. The master at arms shook his head his brown eyes filled with something like pity. 

“My lady, you have a kind heart but…” 

She barreled ahead. Septa Haigh always said that a lady should never interrupt someone but needs must. 

“If we throw him in the dungeon right away he’ll had no reason to talk to us.” 

She knew what they were planning on doing, sleep deprivation, starving him, humiliating him, it wasn't torturing but it was close and she won’t have it. 

“If he tries to escape we’ll move him to the dungeons and we’ll take away privileges, fair enough. The thing is we don’t need to break him in order to get him to talk.” 

Maester Luthor looked up his eyes unreadable. Edwyn smiled at her indulgently, the same way he used to when she was a little girl playing princess with his daughter. 

“Lady Ashara says that Prince Quentyn has no love for Aegon or the Mad King he’s fighting for his sister. If that’s true he could prove a useful ally as well as a bargaining chip.” 

She knew it would be hard for them to accept that the Martells were not truly their enemy but she had faith that with time it would work. 

\----------- 

Their household stood in the courtyard awaiting the prisoner’s arrival. The Walders could talk of nothing but torture. No matter how many times Maester Luthor explained that as a valuable hostage they would not torture the prince, the young boys kept exchanging very gruesome and creative ideas about how to get the dornishman to talk. Alyce and Roslin were more excited about the prospect of meeting knights fresh from battle. They spent ages doing their honey and chestnut tresses up in intricate styles. 

The portcullis opened and Ser Balon Swann burst through, the black and white charging swans displayed proudly on his shield, followed by Lord Ralph Buckler with three brass buckles painted on his blue armour and Ser Aemon Estemont, with his shield molded to look like a turtle’s shell. Then came the prisoner flanked by Ser Philip Foote and Ser Herbet Bolling.

Quentyn Martell was not the rogue seducer that Edwyn had made him not to be. He was short, shorter than Sansa, and stocky with a plain face and shaggy black hair. He didn’t look the part of a prince. His belt was studded with garnets and yellow topaz but otherwise, his dress was plain: studded leather jerkin over the quilted doublet, worn boots, breeches caked in mud. His hands were tied together behind his back with coarse rope. He looked like a brow beaten young man who was scared and alone. 

Sansa was certain that if she just showed him some kindness and courtesy he would open up. They said that war brought out the worst in every man but she refused to let it turn the men of Riverrun into monsters. She was sure that they didn't need to sacrifice their honor to perform their duty. There had to be another way. 

6 months-------

They were all sad to see Lady Ashara leave but now that they had men to escort her she must return to her rightful place in Winterfell. Sansa wanted to ask her to stay but she knew it was a terribly selfish notion. She had no right to keep Lord and Lady Stark separated just to ease her own loneliness. 

The day of her departure, Ashara gave her a bracelet encrusted with amethysts and diamonds cut in the shape of stars.

“This was my mother’s and her mother’s before her.” She said. 

“As you may know, I can not have children, so you’re the closest thing to a daughter I’m ever going to have. I’d like you to have it.” 

Sansa tried to protest, as etiquette dictated she must, but Ashara just slipped the bracelet over her wrist and pulled her into a hug. 

“I’ll see you at Winterfell.” She whispered into Ashara’s neck blinking back tears.  
\-----  
About a sennight after Prince Quentyn arrived Sansa went down to the kitchens and asked the cook to make some Dornish classics. When Maeri and Brella gave her odd looks she said that the babe was making her crave spice food now. She marched up the spiraled staircase of the eastern tower carrying a tray of grape leaves stuffed with mélange of raisins, onions, mushrooms and fiery dragon peppers. Roslin was right beside her, hands shaking as she carried and a jug of Dornish Red. 

The guard, Ser Balon Swann, unbolted the door and gave the pair a stern look. 

“Be vigilant, ladies and remember all dornishmen are liars.” He cautioned before opening the door. 

“Thank you for your concern, Ser.” Sansa said before walking across the threshold into the belly of the beast.

The chamber was simple, stripped of anything that could be used as a weapon, just a bed a table and only one chair. The only real difference between this and the dungeon was the smell. Oh, and the tower had a window. It was barred but still sunlight was a comfort. Quentyn looked like a cornered animal. 

“Good day, Ser!” Sansa chirped forcing a smile. 

“We thought you’d like some food from your homeland.” She said putting the heavy tray down on the table. 

Quentyn eyed the food hungrily but restrained himself. There was a tense thick silence as the three of them stared at each other. The silence stretched out, growing more and more oppressive. Then it hit her, he thought the food was poisoned. She cautiously took a slimy stuffed grape leave from the tray. She took a bite, it was salty spicy, and far too rich for her delicate stomach but she swallowed it to earn his trust. 

\------ 

The first few times she and Roslin went to visit Quentyn they didn’t talk about the war. They talked about music and asked him questions about Dorne, and King’s Landing. She couldn’t help but notice the way the tips of Quentyn’s ears turned pink whenever Roslin smiled at him, or that Roslin laughed at all his japes even though they were rarely funny. They would have been a sweet couple if it weren’t for the circumstances. 

During their fourth visit she asked Arya. 

“She was always flirting with him whenever Joffrey was around,she wolf” said Quentyn. “I think she just wanted to make him jealous.” 

“So, was he in love with her?” 

“I’m not sure I would call it love. It was more of an obsession. Everyone at court thought he’d gone mad, running aftershe-wolf when he had my sister as his queen, the most beautiful woman in all Westeros.” He shook his head and took a bite of the roast goat. 

“He's got it in his head that he’s the Prince who was Promised. He believes that the dragons would be reborn. He kept saying that the dragon must have three heads.” 

“Like the sigil?” Roslin asked. 

“Sort of. Aegon believes that he is Aegon the conqueror reborn and he needs the other two heads Visenya and Rhaenys. Since he only has one sister, Rhaenys, he thought that Arianne could give him a daughter and she’d be the third head. But Arianne gave him two sons and after she gave birth to Aemon the Grand Maester said that she couldn’t have any more children. He needs Arya to give birth to his Visenya." 

Quentyn sighed and shook his head. 

"He said she was a perfect fit since she had the temperament of Visenya herself, plus this way he’s mixing the blood of Old Valyria with that of the First Men.” 

“So, that’s why King Rhaegar won’t let Rhaenys marry?” Roslin asked dipping a carrot in a strange Dornish paste made of garbanzo beans.

“Yes, Rhaenys has been trying to get permission to marry Willas Tyrell for years but Rhaegar wants her to become Aegon’s second wife once Visenya is born.” 

They still didn’t know where Arya was but it was something. The thing that stuck out the most to Sansa was this prince who’d been promised. Sansa loved songs and legends but she’d never heard of this.  
\-------  
So she asked Maester Luthor about it. Apparently, according to a tale from Old Valyria, the prince that was promised was a prophesied savior who would deliver the world from darkness. He was said to have a song, the song of ice and fire. Maester Luthor said that he would be born amidst salt and smoke, and a bleeding star would herald the coming of the prince. 

Immediately Sansa thought of the red comet and how it had appeared on the day that she discoveries that she was pregnant. Was the red comet meant for her baby? True, he wouldn’t be a prince but the Starks had been Kings for hundreds of years before the Targaryens. Could she be carrying the prince who was promised? 

No, she couldn’t think like that. She’d always had her head in the clouds as a young girl, and wanted to live life as if it were a song. But now she was a woman grown in the middle of a war. She needed to keep grounded. She couldn't afford to believe in prophecies.


	11. Chapter 11

Sansa woke up at the crack of dawn her skin flush and her cunny throbbing. She groaned into her pillow frustrated beyond belief. Lately, she’d started dreaming of her husband. In her dreams, he would come to their bedchamber she would go to him kiss him passionately while she wrapped her arms around his powerful neck, before she drew him to her on the soft bed where he would fuck her hard and fast, and she would scream her pleasure with each of his deep thrusts inside her. 

Sansa stretched out on her bed and yawned luxuriously. Sometimes she would dream that they were in the Wheel Tower, where he would push her up against the ivy-covered wall, raising her skirts up so he could enter her from behind and make her whimper in need while he slid his hard manhood in and out of her wetly. Giving her so much pleasure Sansa would always cry out in complete bliss.

Every morning, when she would wake to find herself wet and aching from her dreams, she would always slowly run her hand over her body with light fingertips, pinching her hardened nipples before going down between her legs. There, she would rub her hard little nub until she made herself climax hard, moaning his name. As she brushed and plaited her hair Sansa couldn’t help but wonder if it was normal, or proper for a woman to long for her husband so much, but she found that for once she did not care. All these very unladylike thoughts had started to make her womanhood ache dully again, so she brushed them aside and splashed cold water on her face. 

She had more important things to worry about than her loneliness and lust. There was the omnipresent threat that her husband might be captured left to rot in some dungeon, or worse still run through by a loyalist’s sword. And her husband wasn’t the only one in danger her great uncle Black Fish was right outside the gates of King’s Landing in the eye of the storm. 

But the war might be coming closer to their home they’d received a missive from the steward at the Pink Maiden that an Iron Born long ship flying a peace banner was sailing up the Red Fork towards Riverrun. It could be here any day. Mayhaps the peace banner was a trick or Balon Greyjoy wanted to join their cause. It seemed unlikely but anything was possible. War made strange bedfellows after all. 

She put on a fitted linen smock then laced herself into her surcoat of indigo brocade. Sansa grimaced at her reflection in the looking glass. She felt so awkward and ungainly with her distended stomach, double chin, and swollen ankles. She wondered what Jon would think if he could see her now. He’d probably be disgusted. Then again her father had always been most attentive to her mother during her pregnancies, rubbing and kissing her belly, talking to his unborn children, and holding back her hair when she was sick. But, Sansa reminded herself, her parent’s marriage had been a love match whereas Jon had married her out of duty. 

Sansa sighed fiddling through her cherry wood jewelry box trying to find something to make herself feel beautiful. She hoped both for herself and their child that they would come to love one another. She thought she could come to love Jon if he let her. He was reserved and a bit cold but he was also gentle, brave and strong. She plucked her mother’s rune necklace from the box along with her grandmother Minsia’s lapis lazuli brooch. She put on the necklace and examined the arabesque motifs of ships and mermaids on the brooch. 

Suddenly a thought struck her: what if she loved Jon but he didn’t fall in love with her? Ever since she was a little girl she’d been in love with the idea of love. Some of her fondest memories were of her and her mother frolicking along the grounds, singing famous love songs at the top of their lungs. The thought that she would never experience true love was heartbreaking. Gods, she didn’t know if she could bear it. Tending to his children, hosting his bannermen, running his castle, coupling with him, all while suffering the pains of unrequited love. She took a deep breath and secured the brooch to her surcoat, trying to banish those thoughts from her mind. She didn’t need to create more things to worry about she had enough on her plate already. 

\---

Sansa walked out of her bedchamber and was greeted by Ser Herbert Boiling and some of his father’s boisterous men. She forced a smile and curtsied before rushing passed. She seemed to be the only one who was bothered by the Stormlanders presents at Riverrun. Ser Goodwin was glad to have more men and welcomed the Stormlanders. The Walders and Brynden loved hearing stories from the battlefield. Even Alyce had gotten swept up in it giggling and flirting with Ser Balon. But Sansa was irked by them because she knew they were not truly fighting for the Stark’s cause but instead were fighting to put a Baratheon on the throne. Sure, Robert was slain but his wife Cersei was like all Lannisters driven by ambitious not honor. She and her father would ensure that the Iron Throne went to young Tommen even though, he was only fourth in the line of succession. She liked to believe that her Uncle Tywin was above killing innocent babies but she wasn’t so sure. 

As Sansa walked through the corridor towards the great hall she tried to decide whether or not to visit Quentyn today. She was very proud that her methods had succeeded and that she’d been able to get information from the Dornish prince without using unsavory means. The only problem was Quentyn didn’t really know any military secrets. Most of the information he gave them was royal gossip this annoyed both Ser Goodwin, and Edwyn Pryce but Roslin and Sansa found it all very entertaining. For instance, he told them that Mad King Rhaegar was the one who told Aegon that he was the prince who was promised. The King had wanted to give his son two sisters but after an unfortunate jousting accident, he was left sterile. When he found out he was furious and struck Grand Maester Pycelle so hard that he fell to the ground and broke his shoulder. 

The story made Sansa think that mayhaps Prince Aegon wasn’t mad mayhaps he was just doing as his father commanded. Sansa felt lucky that she had never had to choose between doing what was right and being an obedient daughter, but she knew not all children were as lucky as her. She’d like to think that if her father were cruel or mad or both that she would have the strength to defy him but she wasn’t sure. One thing was for sure, the crown prince did not slay Joffrey in an honorable way, slitting his throat like a thief in the night, no true knight would do such a thing. 

Sansa was pulled from her thought when she recognized the nasal tones of Ser Estemot who’d just returned form escorting Lady Ashara to Winterfell, coming from a nearby alcove  
.  
“The way I see it that wolf bitch is just as responsible for Lord Joff’s death as the craven prince.” 

Sansa pursed her lips and ground her teeth. There were many unsavory things that Sansa couldn’t change but she could control what would and would not be said under her roof. She would not have her good sister spoken about like this. She stepped forward and cleared her throat. Ser Estemot and his companion Lord Ralph Buckler turned and spotted her.

“My lady, I...” Ser Estemot began but Sansa raised a hand to silence him. She eyed the knight in front of her taking in his gilded armor, and enormous codpiece. He was the first born son of an ancient house with a head as swollen as her belly. 

“I heard what you were saying about my good sister, the Lady Arya.” 

“My lady, truly I…” 

“You, Ser,” She said spitting out the honorific as though it were a grave insult. “are a knight without honor.” 

The two knights blinked back at her stunned. She’d hoped that he would be chastised and take her words to heart but instead he merely looked insulted and agitated. Lord Boiling had a smug smirk on his face and looked like he couldn’t wait to tease Aemon mercilessly about the whole encounter. So Sansa decided to twist the knife a little. She gave Ser Estemont a haughty glare and arched one of her eyebrows at him. 

“Do you know what a knight without honor is?” She asked her voice icy and dripping with condescension. 

“A killer. It doesn’t matter how shiny your armor is or how old your family name is if you behave without honor you are no better than our butcher, Mikken.” 

With that she gave them her most cheerful smile, tossed her hair over her shoulder and marched off.  
\----

She practically skipped into the Great Hall. She knew it had been unladylike to speak to Ser Estemot so but it felt amazing. She sat down at the in between Hoster and Brynden. Hoster was humming happily and playing with his porridge while Brynden spun a tall tale to impress Big Walder. Septa Haigh eyed him over her cup of mint tea but said nothing. Sansa piled boiled goose eggs, and bacon burnt black onto her plate. Different day, different craving. 

“Ser Goodwin was here earlier.” Septa Haigh said, buttering her oat cake. “He said that the longship should be at the east pier by tomorrow morning.” 

Her septa’s words sucked all the joy and giddiness from Sansa. It was a cruel reminder of the reality of their situation.

“Then we will meet them there.” She said trying her best to appear brave. 

There wasn’t any more she could do. She’d sent word of the development to her father and told all her bannermen along the Red Fork to be on guard. 

“Can I come?” Bryden asked. 

“Pleashe ShanSha, pleashe!” 

His lisp was getting better but when he was excited he slipped back into it. Looking at his hopeful face it was hard to deny him but she knew she had to. She reached out and smoothed the curl on his forehead. 

“It’s too dangerous.” Said Little Walder through a mouthful of blood sausage. 

“Aye but I’m a big boy now.” 

Gods, he was such a sweetheart. She took his hand in hers and gave it a squeeze. 

“Yes, Brynden but I need you to stay at Riverrun with Septa Haigh and Maester Luthar. It’s important that one of us stays here it’s what father would want.” 

Brynden nodded and turned his attention back to his stewed plums and buttermilk biscuits. Sansa knew he was disappointed and made a mental note to find some way to make it up to him.  
\---- 

“Umm my lady,” Ser Balon said looking rather uncomfortable. “Prince Quentyn already has a guest.” 

Sansa furrowed her brow. That was odd… there was only one other person who would care to see the hostage and that was…

“Roslin?” 

Ser Balon nodded. 

“Aye, she came to break her fast with him.” 

Sansa rolled her eyed. She’d need to talk to Roslin about decorum. It was one thing to be civil with a captive but now she was just fraternizing with the enemy. She curtsied to Ser Balon open the door and stepped inside.

And there they were, Roslin’s head lolled back her fingers buried in his black hair, Quentyn sucking on her left teat like a starving baby, both his hands hidden under her skirts. Sansa slammed the door shut behind her startling them. Quentyn leaped to his feet white as a sheet eyes bugging out of his head. Roslin buried her beet red face into her hands and groaned. 

“My lady, I…” 

“Silence!” 

Roslin sniffled tucking herself back into her chemise and laced up her overdress. Rage bubbled up inside Sansa. She’d trusted Quentyn, believed in him. She’d been so proud that they’d been able to handle the situation without violence. It had all been a lie, a filthy lie. 

“Roslin wait for me in my solar.” 

The Frey girl nodded and scuttled out of the room. Once Sansa heard the click of the lock fall into place. She whirled around and unleashed all her fury on the bashful prince.

“I have been nothing but kind to you and this is how you repay me. Seducing my ward?” 

He bowed his head cowering. She scoffed the worm couldn’t even meet her eye.

“Do you have any idea what I have spared you? They wanted to break you, starve you, beat you black and blue. You think it’s your high birth that protects you? No, it’s me!”

She walked up to him slow and deliberately enjoying watching him squirm. 

“There are plenty of ways we could hurt you without your lord father ever finding out.” She whispered her voice low and menacing. He looked up at her gaping like a drowning fish. 

“The men are full of helpful suggestions, like plucking all of your hair out, slicing you up and say that it that the maester bleed you, covering you in leeches or, pulling out all of your teeth and tell your father a horse kicked them out.” 

He winced. Sansa soaked up his fear finding it empowering. Mayhaps Ser Goodwin and Castellan Pryce were right. Mayhaps brutes only understood threats and violence. 

“They warned me about you. Told me to never trust a Dornishmen, told me that all your uncle does is fight and fuck. But Lady Ashara said you were good and dutiful.” 

At the mention of Lady Ashara, something flickered in his eyes. Disappointment? Regret? Shame perhaps? No, matter. If he did not respect her then why should she care about his feelings? 

“Guess you fooled her just like you fooled me. But no more!” She stormed out of his cell. 

Alyce was tying her favor to Ser Balon’s arm as he beamed down at her. Couples, couples, everywhere. It was making her feel like a bitter old septa. The two of them turned to her puzzled by the sour expression on Sansa’s face. 

“Alyce, tell Maeri and Brella that from now on they’re to send the captive the vilest concoctions they can create.” 

Alyce nodded her face suddenly serious. No more exotic dornish fare, he could eat prison slop. 

“Oh and Ser Balon, Roslin Frey no longer has permission to visit the east tower.  
\------

Roslin Frey looked wide-eyed and terrified. She had come to think of Roslin as her friend and it felt odd for her to fear her. But right now she had to treat her as a ward, not a friend or peer.

“What were you thinking?” Sansa asked channeling Sept Haigh. 

“It’s not what you think!” Roslin cried wringing her hands together.

“He just…he’s lovely and kind and…” 

“Roslin! He’s a prisoner here.” 

“He never asked me to smuggle him anything or free him.” 

Sansa massaged her temple feeling a headache coming on. She spotted a jug of wine on the table and silently thanked the servant who’d thought to bring it. She picked up a pewter goblet and poured herself a generous cupful. She sniffed it and discovered that it was sweet plum wine, her mother’s favorite. Sansa tilted her head back and drained the goblet. The taste reminded her of happier times, times when her family was whole. 

“How long has this been going on?” 

“A week. He says he loves me.” She said looking at her through a curtain of her hair a goofy grin on her face. 

Sansa had never seen her woeful eyes sparkle like this before. But even if miracle of miracles Quentyn wasn’t lying and manipulating her, his father would never agree to their marriage. Prince Doran would him to marry someone who would strengthen loyalist ties. 

She refilled her cup, filled the second goblet and handed it to Roslin. She took the wine and gave her a grateful smile. They sat down on the leather settee together sipping their wine in silence as Sansa built up the nerve to ask her next question. 

“How far have things gone?” 

Roslin flushed gnawing at her wine-stained lips. 

“I’m still a maid.” 

“Well thank the Gods for that.” 

They both knew that as highborn women their maidenheads were not theirs to give away. Lord Frey would be furious if his daughter was deflowered under Sansa’s watch. As one of the most comely of his kinswomen, Roslin was a valuable pawn to him. The idea made her sick but the more time she spent with the Freys the clearer it became that that was how the Lord of The Crossing saw his spawn. 

Sansa sighed and ran her finger over the rim of her goblet. The sad thing was Sansa knew that the girl she had been before the rebellion would have loved the tale of Quentyn and Roslin, the cascaded lovers, it was like something from a song. But after Robb’s death, she’d lost her taste for those types of songs. 

Suddenly she desperately wished that her father was here. She wanted nothing more than to curl up in his lap like she had done when she was a little girl. He’d always smelled of pine, cinnamon, and comfort. If he were here he’d card his fingers through her hair and tell her that everything was going to be all right. But she had to be strong. She was reminded of something her mother had once said: "A true lady must be fine as porcelain but hard as steel." If she was going to have to deal with the iron born tomorrow she would truly have to be as strong as steel. 

\---------  
As she watched the long ship dock on the pier Sansa shivered pulling her mother’s mantle around her and hoping that the golden runes embroidered on it would offer her some protection from the Old Gods, her husband’s Gods. She was surrounded by knights armed to the teeth yet the ghostly ship still unnerved her. 

A tall man cloaked in black stood on the bow of the ship. Slowly he raised his arms in surrender. The tall man pulled back his hood revealing his face. He had pale blonde hair a strong square jaw and periwinkle blue eyes that caught the morning light. Hushed murmurings rippled through the crowd. Ser Estemot raised his crossbow and pointed it right between the mysterious man’s eyes. What was going on? She fingered the dagger at her side tempted to take it from its scabbard. 

“What are you doing here Dayne?” Ser Goodwin growled pulling his sword out. “Don’t you know the Riverlands have declared for the rebels?” 

Sansa gasped. Arthur Dayne? The Sword of the Morning, little Brynden’s hero. What in the seven hells was he doing here? He was a member of the King’s Guard, sworn to protect Mad King Rhaegar. He should be at the King’s side. Was he truly trying to take Riverrun with only a ragtag bunch of ravers? Perhaps there was something in the water in King’s Landing that had its citizens mad as loons? 

“My company and I come in peace. I am acting not as a member of the King’s Guard but as a Dayne of Starfall, as a good uncle.” 

As he spoke a shorter cloaked figure slinked towards the bow of the ship. Ser Estemot trained his crossbow on the shadowy figure, ever vigilante. 

“We are here to return Arya Stark to her in-laws.” 

With that the shorter figure pulled down her hood. Her dark hair was cropped short like a boy and she had haunting gray eyes. Stark gray, like Jon’s. Sansa gasped and her heart fluttered in her chest. Jon would be so happy that his sister was alive and safe. 

“How do we know this isn’t some Iron born wench? He could be using her to get in with us and spy for the mad dragon.” Ser Goodwyn said glaring at Ser Dayne. Edwyn sighed and rubbed his head. 

“If only Lady Ashara hadn’t left. She would know.”

Sansa took in the young woman before her, she had a lanky boyish frame and was dressed in grimy rough spun breeches and a drab tunic. She had Jon’s coloring but Robb’s bearing, shoulders back, chin up, the devilish glint in the eye. Sansa knew that this was Arya Stark, but her instincts weren’t enough proof. 

“We’ll bring her to Quentyn. He’s met Arya Stark at the tourney at Harrenhal, so he’ll be able to tell if she’s an imposter.” 

She knew that it wasn't official yet but Sansa couldn't wait to send a letter to Jon telling him that his sister was safe and sound.


	12. Chapter 12

7 months----- 

Quentyn confirmed that the young woman was indeed Arya Stark. Sansa had been delighted and sent Jon a raven immediately. Most of the men didn’t know what to make of Ser Dayne. Yes, he’d done the just thing and joined their cause but he’d also broken a sacred vow to do so. Bryden and Hoster, however, loved meeting the legendary knight. They loved listening to him tell tales of battling the Kingswood Brotherhood. 

At first everyone was suspicious of the iron born and gave them a wide birth. But soon the scullery maids were swooning over Qarl the Maid, and Tristifer Botley. They all came out to watch them training in the yard. The two men loved showing off. They would walk around shirtless whenever possible, and sometimes even play the deadly finger game for a crowd of chambermaids and scullions. Even Sansa had to admit that they had a kind of savage beauty and raw charisma. 

Her brothers became very fond of a mute named Wex. He had to be around fourteen or fifteen but he was good with children, letting them climb all over him like a tree, chasing them around the yard playing tag and pulling funny faces to make them laugh. He was definitely a better playmate than either of the Walders, who were bad influences. Ser Goodwin asked around and discovered that the boy was an orphaned bastard. Sansa could see that the gruff older man identified with the sweet silent boy and was pleased when he took him as his squire. He was a quick learner and a hard worker. She was glad that her brother’s friend would be a permanent fixture at Riverrun. 

But Arya Stark had the hardest time transitioning hands down. Sansa quickly realized that her good sister was a prickly creature. She scoffed at Septa Haigh when she invited her into the sewing room, and openly mocked Alyce for swooning over Ser Balon Swann. She beat the Walders silly in the training yard declaring them both cravens and Roslin Frey seemed to be genuinely afraid of the Stark girl. 

Determined to get along with Arya, Sansa offered to sew her a new wardrobe. She didn’t even object when Arya insisted that she make her only breeches and tunics. But she showed no gratitude wiggling and whining during all the fittings. She wouldn’t answer any questions about where she had been and what had happened to her. They all had so many questions. Was she in the Iron Islands the whole time? Did Prince Aegon sign a treaty with Balon Greyjoy? Would the Iron Born fight for the King? But she refused to answer a single question.  
Plus Arya made sour faces whenever Sansa talked about her baby, Arya’s future niece or nephew. She couldn’t really blame Arya after all she had been through but that didn’t make it any less frustrating. So that left news from the front and speculation about the future as the only safe topics of conversation.

Everyone seemed sure that the rebels would be victorious. King’s Landing was surrounded by land and sea. No matter how mad Rhaegar was he had to know that surrendering the capital was for the best. But there was still plenty to speculate about. Would Prince Aegon prove an easier opponent than his father? Would Princess Rhaenys still want to marry Willas Tyrell after the war now that he’d been crippled by Robert’s war hammer? If Arianne Martell became Queen regent would she keep Tywin Lannister as the Hand of the King? Would Tywin Lannister let her become Queen regent in the first place? What would happen to Visery's grieving fiancé Margaery Tyrell? There were rumors that Prince Doran planned to betroth Quentyn to Margaery in an attempt to improve relations with the Reach and unite the loyalist forces. When the rumor reached Riverrun Roslin stayed in bed all day. 

In other news Jon Umber and Dacey Mormont had gone married before battling loyalist at Massey’s Hook taking Sharp Point. Sansa found the idea of lovers fighting together on the battlefield very romantic. But what would they do if he got a child on her? She’d received delightful news that her great-uncle Black Fish had gotten married to Brienne the Maiden of all people. After all those years fighting against familial pressure and refusing to wed he was going to finally be a married man. Sansa’s inner romantic thought that mayhaps he’s fought so hard to stay single because he was waiting for his true love. She knew her gruff great uncle would never admit to harboring such romantic notions but it was fun to imagine. 

This morning the talk in the sewing room had turned to Loras and Renly again. Everyone had been shocked when Ser Loras had stayed at Storm’s End after his father had called all of his bannermen but now he was riding into battle alongside Renly Baratheon against his own family. It fanned the flames of the rumors that he and Renly were as Alyce so delicately put it “sword swallowers.” Septa Haigh flushed and focused on the blanket she was sewing for Sansa’s babe. 

“Only the Father can judge a man not his peers.” She mumbled. 

“I think it’s romantic.” Sighed Roslin giving Sansa a pointed look.

Sansa knew that Roslin saw herself and Quentyn in the tale of the lord and the knight. She was convinced that Dornish prince truly loved her and kept begging Sansa to let her visit him in his cell but Sansa held firm. She idly wondered if Roslin knew that her Uncle Arwood Frey preferred men. 

Arya let out an exasperated sigh and shot Roslin a withering look. 

“I don’t care who warms Lord Renly’s bed, he can tup sheep for all I care.” 

Septa Haigh tutted in disgust but Alyce giggled at her brazenness. Sansa rolled her eyes, she felt disgusting and bloated and all she wanted to do was mend her little brothers’ jerkins in peace. Her patience was wearing thin. Arya was impossible to please. She didn’t approve of anything they did about yet she never made the effort to suggest anything different. 

“Fine, if it bothers you so we won’t talk about it anymore.” She said with forced cheerfulness. 

“What would you like to talk about Lady Arya?” 

Arya’s eye narrowed and her gaze hardened. 

“You know, Jon was against your engagement to Robb. He thought that a southorn would never be able to be a true Lady of Winterfell. He told father that he thought Robb should marry Alys Karstark or one of the Manderly girls.” 

Her tone grew harsher and harsher with every word. Sansa clenched her jaw and pursed her lips. She didn’t know why her good sister was being so cruel but she wouldn’t give her that satisfaction of letting her know how deeply her words cut her. 

“What did Lord Robb say?” Alyce asked caring more about her own curiosity than propriety. Septa Haigh shot her a glare for encouraging Arya’s impertinent. 

“Robb was always lead around by his cock.” Arya snorted making Septa Haigh bristle. 

“I don’t know what your septa taught you but…” 

“I had no septa, in the North mothers actually raise their children.” 

That was it. Arya could insult her all she wanted but she was not getting away with insulting her mother. Sansa stood up letting her sewing fall to the floor and walked over to where Arya was sitting slouched down splay-legged. 

“You know nothing, Arya Stark. Nothing!” 

She waddled out of the sewing room in a huff cursing her swollen and ungainly body. Alyce called after her but she ignored her. She was worried she’d cry and she wasn’t about to let anyone see her cry not now not when she was acting as the Lady of Riverrun. 

“My lady, I was just looking for you.” 

Ignoring the sting of unshed tears, she turned and was greeted by a very grave Maester Luthor for once his face was as long as his beard. He handed her a letter with the blood red dragon seal of the Targaryen’s standing out against the crisp white of the parchment. 

“The King has sent raven bearing the same message to every holdfast in the realm. Whatever it is he wants the world to know about it.” 

Sansa opened the letter and a soon as she read the first sentence her blood went cold.

The dragon will not be dictated to by the lowly wolf and stag. My pyromancers have hidden hundreds of caches of wildfire all around King’s Landing. If my daughter Rhaenys is not returned to me within the sennight King’s Landing will be engulfed in flame and the dragon shall rise up from the ashes triumphant. 

Rhaegar Targaryen The One True King of the Seven Kingdoms 

And for the first time she felt her babe kick.  
\-----  


The next few days were chaos. Everyone was on edge and the smell of panic was in the air. What were they going to do? Was the Mad King bluffing? What if they did release Princess Rhaenys what then? Surely they couldn’t invade a city with caches of wildfire hidden everywhere. The casualties would be enormous. 

Sansa was fraying at the edges, frustrated by constant exhaustion, the whirlwind of doubt, and by the dull insistent ache in her chest, she cannot seem to chase away. Ever since the letter arrived her baby had been kicking and thrashing like a caged animal. The last thing she needed all this drama especially with Hoster’s fifth name day coming but. Sansa had hoped against hope that her father would be home for his name day but it looked like that wasn’t going to happen. 

She finally decided to visit Quentyn. With so many mysteries floating around she might as well start by solving the one closest to home. 

He looked thinner than he had before and his cheekbones and wrists stuck out. His hair was greasy and matted and there were dark circles under his eyes. He whipped his hands on his breeches nervously and licked his cracked lips. 

“My lady.” His voice was hoarse from disuse. 

The silence lingered between them until finally, she took a step towards him and cleared her throat. Her hands knitted gently together before her.

“Last time I saw you I did not give you the opportunity to defend yourself and that was unjust. Is there anything you wish to say?” 

“I’m sorry. I know it was foolish and reckless and a mistake but...” 

He trailed off and shook his head running his fingers through his hair. 

“I didn't have a plan or agenda it just happened. She’s so kind and…” 

He sighed bitterly and mumbled under his breath. 

“She was the first girl to spare me a second glance.” 

Quentyn was making it very hard for her to mislike him. It seemed far more likely that the man before her was a lonely lovesick boy than a cunning seducer. That would make his actions foolish but not malicious. 

“There are rumors that your father seeks to betroth you to Margaery Tyrell.” 

He snorted and shook his head. She’d heard that Margaery Tyrell was a great beauty. Her cousins had met her when they were in King’s Landing and Tyblot had become rather infatuated with her. Gerold and Damon teased him about it for months. If he did not find the prospect of marrying the fair Margaery appealing than perhaps he truly did love Roslin. 

“If my sister had not married the Prince she would have been the heir to Dorne and I would have been free to be with whoever I wanted.” 

Her disbelief must have shown on her face because he continued. 

“It’s true! My uncle has taken a bastard as his lady and everyone accepts it.” 

“My father has a saying, if wishes were fishes then no man would starve.” 

“You Tullys and your fishes.” He mumbled bitterly. 

They both knew that there was no way he could ever marry Roslin Frey. If the Martells wanted to build bridges after the war, they would offer him to one of the Baratheon girls, Myrcella or Shireen, or perhaps a lesser Lannister. They had nothing to gain from the Freys. Seeing at the anguished look on his face Sansa realized that all the songs of forbidden love she’d sung as a young girl were not romantic tales but bitter tragedies. 

\---

Sansa walked down the spiral stairs of the eastern tower and entered the courtyard. 

“ShanSha!” 

She whipped around and was startled by what she saw. Wex was running towards her carrying Hoster who appeared to be hurt and covered in mud, and trotting behind them as fast as his stumpy legs would carry him was Brynden. 

“Gods be good what happened!” 

“Little Walder was teasing Wex and Hoster and he just lunged at him.He punched him, ripped his hair out, even made him cry."

“I would have done more but stupid Big Walder pulled me off first.” Hoster grumbled. 

Gods be good, her youngest brother was showing early sides of the Tully temper just like their great uncle Black Fish.  
Sansa scooped Hoster out of the Iron born’s arms getting mud all over the front of her dress.

“Wex, please go to the kitchen and get a slab of meat from Brella we’ll need it for his eye. We’ll be in the nursery.” 

Wex nodded and darted off ever obedient. 

\----

“Highborn lordlings do not get into fistfights with their wards.” 

Sansa said as she unbuttoned her little brother’s jerkin. Hoster held his arms up and let her pull the soiled clothes over his head. 

“But knights defend the weak.” He replied looking far too serious for an almost five-year-old. Sansa decided to ignore that and busied herself stuffing her baby brother into a crisp clean tunic. 

“I want to be a great knight like Ser Arthur Dayne!” 

Their father should be here for this. It was his place to discipline his children teach them right from wrong but he was far away and Sansa didn’t know what to do. Hoster was a good lad but even though defending a mute was noble he couldn’t behave like this. He’d need to learn restraint and decorum.  


Suddenly she heard a knock at the door. She turned and spotted Alyce looking worried in the doorway. 

“Maester wants to see you. He says it’s urgent.” 

Her babe began thrashing wildly inside her.  
\---- 

“Lady Sansa thank you for joining us so quickly.” Maester Luthor said smiling and revealing his yellowed teeth. 

Sansa wrinkled her nose and sat down on the settee next to Ser Goodwin. The Maester’s solar was cramped and smelled like an apothecary. 

“Is there news from the front?” 

“Yes, from King’s Landing in fact, but the maester refused to tell us anything until you got here.” Edwyn sighed clearly peeved. 

“Out with it Luthor! Ser Goodwin cried grinding his teeth in frustration. 

“Yesterday Queen Elia took Ser Jaime Lannister’s sword and ran her husband through with it.”

Sansa’s mind reeled. No, it wasn’t possible. A Queen murdering her King? Her lord husband the father of her children, the father of the realm. 

“With King Rhaegar dead Prince Aegon is now King.”

“I’m not sure if that’s an improvement.” Ser Goodwin grumbled taking a swig from with goblet of Dornish red. 

“The Dowager Queen has requested a trial by combat and Ser Jaime immediately offered to fight for her. He’ll be fighting against Ser Barristan.” The maester cleared his throat before adding. “They are calling her the Kingslayer.”

Sansa didn’t know what to think or how to feel. Was Queen Elia a hero or a villain? She’d murdered her husband and king. But said king had been a mad man who was threatening to set King’s Landing on fire sentencing innocents to death. She’d always heard the Elia and Rhaegar loved one another and that made this all the sadder. 

What would she do if Jon went mad and wanted to burn down Winterfell? Would she stick by her family and do her duty by her lord husband? Or would she do the honorable thing and do her duty by protecting her people. Her family words had always seemed so simple pure and true. Not a boast or threat, like “Ours is the Fury”, or “Hear my Roar” but a code to live by. But what was one to do when the elements of the code contradicted each other pulling you in different directions? Her head started to throb in time with her babe’s violent kicks.  
\------  


On the morning of Hoster’s fifth name day they received news that Ser Jaime had defeated Ser Baristan, meaning that Dowager Queen Elia was now a free woman. After that, Sansa forbade any more discussion of the war this day was about Hoster. 

Edwyn Pryce had whittled Hoster a toy horse on wheels and Alyce had painted it. Sansa and the Master of Hounds Edmyn Paege had picked out the perfect pup for Hoster. He was caramel colored with a fluffy tail and big warm brown eyes. Hoster decided to name him Honey after his favorite food. 

Now after a day of picnicking and playing Sansa let herself relax. The servants were bringing out the final course, a series of beautiful desserts, each more tempting than the last. There were fruit tarts in deep round dishes, surrounded by warm flaky crusts and full of dark sweet and sour berries, pears poached in strong wine were followed by sliced winter peaches served with chilled honeyed milk. The iced blueberries with sweet cream were set in front of Bryden; the cooks were well used to chasing him out of the kitchen for trying to sneak bowls of it. Sansa herself looked forward to the lemon cakes and planned to have some sweet plum wine as well. Hoster, of course, only had eyes for the apple tarts fragrant with cinnamon and cloves, which he was devouring, in between laughing at Wex’s antics.

The children were laughing and clapping while Ser. Goodwin’s squire juggled blood melons and winter peaches to amuse Hoster, and Sansa had to admit the boy was quite a talent. He even managed to make Arya crack a smile. 

She turned a noticed a serving girl hovering at her elbow. The young girl timidly held out a letter bearing a golden seal. 

“From Casterly Rock, milady.” 

“Thank you.”  
She opened it excepting to find name day wishes from her aunt, it was good of her to remember even in the middle of all this chaos. 

Sansa,

Aegon has discovered that Arya is at Riverrun. Instead of getting coronated and defending the capital he and his forces have taken off. He intends to sack the Riverlands and steal her back. I’m sending Damon, Tybolt, Gerold and their men to support your father. Tywin might not be willing to throw his full support behind the rebellion but my boys know our words. 

your Aunt Cat


	13. Chapter 13

Catelyn Tully-Lannister’s letter set off a wave of activity at Riverrun. There was much debate over what should be done. Should Arthur Dayne try and take Arya back to Winterfell? Keeping Arya here put the inhabitants of Riverrun at danger. But, as Ser Goodwin pointed out, even if Arya left Aegon wouldn’t believe them and would still rip the castle apart trying to find her. Ser Arthur suggested that he and Arya could travel to Winterfell in disguise. Arya completely supported the idea which hurt Sansa’s feelings. But then word reached Riverrun that King Aegon had promised a reward of to anyone who provided information about Arya’s whereabouts, with the small folk on the look out for anyone who looked like Arya it was far too dangerous for them to travel. 

Sansa tried not to be too insulted by Arya’s disappointment. Her good sister had been acting odder than usual recently she couldn’t sleep but refused Maester Luthor’s sleeping drafts, she wouldn’t even drink wine. She ate by herself and spent all her time either in the training yard or the Godswood. Sansa had watched her in the training yard and she was vicious. When she watched the knights or the Iron Born sparring they were competitive but it was a sport, a game, but Arya was thirsty for blood. There was a wildness in her eyes as she twisted and turned deftly using her opponents strength against him before finishing him. It was as though she were battling the Others themselves not terrified squires and startled knights. Septa Haigh said she was a wilding changeling. 

Apart of Sansa wanted to leave Arya be after all she’d been through but she knew King Aegon best out of all of them and they needed information. Was he paranoid like his father? Did he believe he was a dragon and impervious to fire? What did he plan to do once he had all three head of the dragon? Her curiosity drove her mad it was like a bug bite that she wasn’t allowed to scratch. 

A sennight after the letter her three cousins arrived with scores of Lannister men all draped in crimson and gold. The smallfolk were relieved that the Westerlands were now on the rebel’s side and here to defend them. Sansa hadn’t seen her cousins in a few years and in those years they had grown into men. Last year Grand Maester Pycelle had declared Tyrion Lannister sterile making her cousin Damon, the heir to Casterly Rock. He had grown into his body and had been transformed from a lanky lad to a strapping young man. The youngest Gerold, looked just like his half brother the Young Lion, Ser Jaime, with his winning smile and flashing green eyes. Tybolt had gone taller but other than that he hadn’t changed much. According to Gerold and Damon, he still spent far too much time with his half-brother Tyrion, who they insisted on calling the Imp. 

As her cousins planned battles and laid out strategies for protecting Riverrun, she couldn’t help but think that there was something they were forgetting. 

So one morning Sansa went to solar sat at her desk and wrote to her lords. She was on her ninth letter when suddenly the door was flung open. 

“There you are,” Damon said, “Brynden’s been looking for you.” 

Sansa wrinkled her nose and signed her signature with a flourish. Damon had taken to wearing a rather pungent peony perfume that overwhelmed the senses. 

“I’m almost done with these letters I’ll be there in a minute.” 

Her hands were beginning to cramp up. She stretched out her fingers and cracked her knuckles. It might be unladylike like but it felt good. 

“What are you writing?” Her cousin asked idly as he browsed through a stack of maps on her bookshelf. 

“Our people are afraid. I’m writing to my bannermen encouraging them to open their holdfasts to the small folk and shelter their people. When the war comes closer to us I’ll open up Riverrun and do the same.” 

Damon looked at her with bemusement in his Tully blue eyes. 

“You have a good heart cousin, but no lord wants to clutter their castle with useless people.” 

“They aren’t useless.” She sniffed stamping her letter as she reached for another piece of parchment. 

She knew that if her father were not busy battling the loyalists at the Stoney Sept he would be doing exactly what she was doing. 

“Morning!” Tybolt said cheerfully meandering into her private solar-like he owned the place. He clapped his older brother on the shoulder wrinkling his crimson silk tabard. 

“Did you tell her the news?” 

Damon scowled pushed his brother off of him. 

“What news?”

“Mace Tyrell and Paxter Redwyne took Princess Rhaenys from Dragon Stone. They’re on course to Highgarden.” He said his green eyes glimmering with mischief. 

Sansa knew that this meant the rebels had lost their most valuable hostage but she couldn’t help but find the news romantic. 

“Lord Stannis is furious!” He added grinning like a madman. 

Sansa rolled her eyes. She never understood Tybolt’s hatred for Lord Stannis but the lad always reveled in the Baratheon Lord’s misfortunes. Mayhaps it was simply because their temperances were so different, Stannis was stern and stoic while Tybolt was ever the jester taking after his half-brother Tyrion, much to his father’s dismay. It was sad really because Shireen was besotted with Tybolt and Lord Stannis would never permit the match if Tybolt kept up this behavior. 

“They kidnapped her!” Damon grumbled fiddling with his ruby encrusted ring. 

Sansa looked up from her letters and frown astonished at the wild accusation.

“What? Surely, they liberated her. They’re loyal to her brother.” 

Damon shook his head and looked at her as though she were a simpleton. 

“As soon as they arrive at Highgarden they’re going to march her down the aisle and force her to marry that cripple.” He spat out the word cripple as if it were an unholy curse.

Sansa didn’t understand Damon’s bitterness. As far as she knew he’d only meet the princess once. Plus Damon was a handsome man with his golden Lannister locks and bright blue eyes, he would have no problem finding a bride of his own. 

“Everyone knows that Princess Rhaenys petitioned her father for years desperate to marry Willas.” 

Sansa said as she scratched out yet another letter. She was going to polish off a whole bottle of ink at this rate. Tybolt snatched a peacock feather quill from her quill stand and started playing with it. 

“True, but how much of that was out of love for him and how much of it was just her trying to get out of marrying her brother?” He replied glibly. 

“Plus that was before his accident.” Damon added.

Tybolt rolled his eyes and shook his head making his auburn curls bounce from side to side. 

“Damon’s just upset because he wanted her for himself.” He explained in a mummer’s whisper before tickling Damon’s nose with the tip of his quill. 

“You know Father would never have let that happen. She was to marry Tommen.” 

“Oh please!” Damon snorted batting the feather quill away. “Tommen could be her son. Giving a beauty like that to a boy king would be a waste.” 

“No more a waste than throwing her away on a cripple.” 

Sansa had never seen this side of her cousins and it made her distinctly uncomfortable. The way they spoke about women as though they were cheap prizes at a country fair. Good men were dying every day and Damon was acting like a petulant child who’d been denied his favorite toy. Also, the way they talked about Willas Tyrell unnerved her. He was a war hero injured in battle not some grotesque. Even though he was fighting for the other side his injury was a mark of his valor. To think that when she was ten she’d had a crush on Damon and wanted nothing more than to give him golden haired sons. 

“Done.” She declared stamping the final letter with gusto. She grabbed the stack of letters and stood up. “I’m going to go send these, excuse me.”  
\------  
After her trip to the rookery, Sansa decided to take a walk around the grounds. The fresh air helped with her morning sickness and she could use some peace and quiet. Hoster was trying to train Honey. So far he’d taught the pup to play death and shake hands but couldn’t get him to stop barking or jumping up on people. Brynden, excited by all the knight’s tale of battle kept badgering her asking when he’d be allowed to become a squire. Roslin had finally stopped moping and had thrown herself into writing songs about Queen Elia the King Slayer, her and every bard in the seven kingdoms. She reminded herself to write to Lady Ashara and ask what she thought of her old friend’s actions. 

Lost in her thoughts she allowed her feet to take her where they may. So as she was busy wondering how Jon had changed if he still missed her and if he thought about her as much as she thought about him her feet guided her to the Godswood. 

As she approached the heart tree she thought she saw a figure up ahead of her through the branches. Was it Wex? Or Beth the blacksmith’s daughter? No, when she came closer she found that it was none other than her good sister. 

There Arya was kneeling beside the great weirwood whittling a stick down to a sharp point with her dagger. The wood shavings were getting all over her good leather shoes but she didn’t seem to notice. She was wearing a pair of gray woolen breeches and a white and gray jerkin that Sansa had sewn for her, which she had yet to thank her for. She’d taken special pains to embroider fierce direwolves on the cuffs and collar not that Arya cared. Sansa thought about walking away before the other girl saw her but she knew Septa Haigh wouldn’t approve. After all, they were going to have to live together in Winterfell and Jon was close to his sister so the sooner they learned to get along the better. 

“Good Morning!” She chirped. 

Arya ignored her and kept whittling away. She noticed the obsidian direwolves chasing each other around the hilt of her dagger. Robb had had a dagger like that. He’d said his father gave it to him for his name day. Mayhaps the dagger was a present from Lord Brandon. She smiled at the thought, a lord giving his seventeen-year-old heir and his fourteen-year-old daughter the same present. Did Jon have a matching dagger as well? 

Thinking of her husband made her chest ache so she decided to switch topics as quickly as possible. She straightened up brushed some invisible dust off her forest green gown and gave her good sister a false smile. 

“I’m glad you like it here.” 

Arya continued to ignore her. Sansa considered asking her what she was whittling but she decided that she really didn’t want to know. You’d be able to poke someone’s eye out with the end of that stick, and eye gouging seemed like a very Arya thing to do. 

“I’ve always loved it. My mother and I planted the violets, wood lilies and great blue lobelias” 

Sansa had loved gardening with her mother. She smiled to herself remembering how back in the summer she and her mother would come out here to plant wild lupine and lady's slippers. Sometimes little Brynden would join them toddling about in the bluebells. 

She’d died a day after giving birth to Hoster. That afternoon they received word from the Citadel that Winter was coming. Sansa rubbed her stomach. Lately, she’d been haunted by memories of her mother’s final hours bleeding to death in her birthing bed. Some days she couldn’t wait for the baby to come other days she was terrified and wanted it to stay inside her forever. 

“This isn’t just another garden for your pretty southron flowers.” Arya snapped. “It’s a place of worship.” 

Sansa sighed. Nothing she ever said would please her. She hoped that her good mother Lady Stark would be more hospitable but she doubted it. Lady Ashara had said that Arya got her stubbornness and pride from her mother. So if the Stark women decided to hate her there was little she could do to change their minds. 

“You know, Jon and I were married here. I thought it would be symbolic since the ceremony turned me into a Northerner.” 

“You can’t become a Northerner,” Arya said gesticulating wildly with her dagger as she spoke. “you either are one or you aren’t and you definitely aren’t.” 

Sansa knew what her good sister thought of her, that just because she was southron she must be a simpering ninny. She thought she was better, smarter, tougher. She thought that Sansa had bewitched both her brothers with her feminine wiles but that she was unworthy of them. Just some empty-headed slip of a girl, just some plaything, no better than a tavern wench, or a common whore. She might not be a lady knight but there was more than one kind of strength. 

She gave Sansa a withering look and scoffed. 

“Either say what you have to say or leave me be.” Her words were harsh, bitter and sounded to Sansa like a challenge.

Fine. If Arya thought her courtesies silly and empty then she wouldn’t waste her charms on her. 

“Prince Quentyn told me about the prophecy.” Her voice was haughty even in her own ears but that didn’t stop her. 

It was out now. All this time she’d been gracious and danced around the issue, not wanting to make Arya uncomfortable, but the dam was broken and the words came flooding out of her mouth. 

“He told me you’re meant to give King Aegon the third head of the dragon. He thinks you’re carrying his child, his Visenya. That’s why he’s coming after you. Isn’t it?” 

Arya clenched her jaw and stared at the roots of the weirwood tree. Every muscle in her body had just tensed. For a moment Sansa wondered if she was just going to bolt, run off into the woods and never look back. Suddenly she truly wanted to know, and if she wanted the truth she’d have to change her tactic. Feeling all the anger drain out of her Sansa sunk down to her knees and sat down next to Arya. 

“Did you lie to him?” She asked keeping her voice low and soft as if speaking to a spooked horse. 

“Did you tell him you were with child so he would leave you be and go fight for his father?” 

“I didn’t." 

Arya said the words so quickly they almost ran together. It was as though she wanted to get them out as soon as possible. Get them out so she would never have to speak or think them again. 

“Arthur kept begging Aegon to take me back but he insisted that he couldn’t leave my side until he knew I was with child. When his half maester confirmed I was pregnant he left for King’s Landing and I made my escape.” 

It was like she was talking to herself as if she’d forgotten that Sansa was even there. She tried to keep as still as possible afraid of breaking the spell. 

“I couldn’t keep it. It would have been sick dragon spawn born of hate and violence. He said he needed her to help him rule the world. I wasn’t about to help him.” 

Tansy. She drank tansy tea. It all made sense, her uneasiness around the topic of Sansa’s baby the way she looked at her and her pregnant belly. It would have been late in the pregnancy and very dangerous to Arya’s healthy. Sansa had heard that if you take Tansy later than six weeks you could cause permanent damage to yourself. Arya may never be able to have children now. Aegon took that from her along with everything else. Sansa didn’t care how luxurious his silver tresses were, how well he played the harp or how many languages he spoke, no true prince would do what he did. No, true prince, no true knight, no true man. He was a savage, a monster who belonged on the other side of the wall with the snarks grumpkins and firewyrms. 

“You’re judging me.” Her good sister snapped bringing Sansa out of her reverie. She looked up and found that Arya was staring her down eyes hard ready to pick a fight. 

“You think I’m a murder. You…” 

“No!” Sansa interrupted shocked and hurt by Arya’s accusations. 

“I…I can’t even imagine what you went through. I would never” She stuttered flushing furiously and picking at the moss by her feet.

“We all do what we have to.” 

Slowly but surely the ice in Arya’s eyes melted. 

“I think you’re very strong and brave.” 

Arya seemed skeptical and searched her eyes for some hint of a jape. Sansa had never been more serious. To her, Arya was just as brave as Ser Hightower The White Bull or Duncan the Tall, or even Prince Aemon the Dragon Knight.

For a moment the only sounds were the babbling on the nearby brook and the rushing of the distant river. Butterflies and bumblebees flitted about from flower to flower. The tension thickened. 

“I fought back, you know.” She said pride creeping into her voice. “Broke his fingers, some ribs, bite him all over, ripped out handfuls of his precious silver hair. Then he started dousing me with dream wine.” 

She shifted uncomfortably and wrapped her furs tighter around herself. Sansa wanted to reach out and take her hand in hers but she worried that it might be going too far. Arya still was a mystery to her, her moods and impulses baffled her. So she had no way of knowing if the gesture would be welcome or if the other girl would slap her in the face. 

“The worst thing” She continued her voice growing lower and softer. “was he kept telling me he loved me every time.” 

“Next man who says those words to me I’ll lop his cock off and make him eat it.” 

Sansa winced at the grotesque image but she understood the impulse. Just hearing the pain in Arya’s voice made her crave vengeance. 

“No just man would condemn you for it.” Arya looked up at her shocked and Sansa realized to her surprise that she’d spoken out loud. 

She’d often hear the expression ‘The North Remembers’ for the Northerners believed in the old ways of honor and vengeance and would never forget a slight. When you wronged one of their own they would not be bought off with lands or trinkets, the only way to wipe the slate clean was with blood. Well, her mother’s house words were ‘We Remember’ and Sansa was just as much a Royce as she was a Tully. A smile flitted across her face. Mayhaps she was meant to be a Northerner after all. She met her good sister’s gaze and said. 

“That dragon spawn is a craven monster and he will never be our king.” 

Then for the first time, Sansa saw Arya Stark truly smile. 

-8 months---- 

After their talk in the Godswood Arya seemed much better. She was still a demon in the training yard and Roslin was still afraid of her, but her eyes were less clouded and her temper more even. 

She also started sharing Sansa’s bed. She offered to sleep with her when she first arrived but Arya had scoffed and said that her northern blood kept her warm enough thank you very much. Sansa enjoyed the company even though she kicked as much as Sansa’s babe. Arya definitely wasn’t a cuddler like Jon but it was still nice to have the warmth of another body next to hers. 

They weren’t close really, not the way she’d imagined sisters would be. Arya still mocked her and avoided her, preferring almost anyone’s company to hers. But sometimes in the dead of the night, they’d talk. Arya would explain how Aegon dyed his hair blue claiming to be a Tyroshi, how they’d moved from place to place all the time and pitted the Iron Lords against each other. 

If wasn’t the relationship she’d dreamed of having with her good sister oh so long ago before the war before she was married off to a different brother, but it was something. 

When Sansa arrived in her father’s solar for the meeting she couldn’t tell if the news was bad or good. Maester Luthor looked grave and pensive as usual, his tired eyes dropping and his shoulders hunched over from the weight of his chains. Ser Arthur Dayne was his dashing yet enigmatic self, looking like someone out of a song. A hero? A villain? She couldn’t be sure. But Ser Swann looked far too alert for this early in the morning plus he was chatting away with Edwyn Pryce. Normally, the steward was curt bordering on rude with Ser Swann since he didn’t approve of his friendship with Alyce but this morning Edwyn was actually making small talk with the stormlander, making japes as the poured over a map together. 

She squeezed herself in her large belly rubbing up against the table. Maester Luthor cleared his throat and began. 

“My lady your father suffered a crushing defeat at the Stoney Sept, he and what remains of his troops are falling back to Riverrun.” 

She felt her heart sink to the bottom of her new leather shoes. Gods, she didn’t know how she was going to tell Brynden and Hoster, especially Hoster he idealized their father so. Still, she should focus on the positive at least their father was coming home in one piece.

“Apparently the Dragon King has great siege weapons.” Ser Swann said sounding almost excited. 

“They cover these wooden spheres in oil set them on fire then catapult them.”

It was well and good for him, he was only thinking of them theoretically as an innovation in the art of warfare. Sansa was imagining a ball on fire crashing into her childhood home, the only home she’d ever known. 

“But there is good news as well.” Added Ser Goodwin. “King Aegon is furious that his sister has married the Tyrell heir. He demanded the High Septon annul the marriage but since he’s in the pocket of the Hightowers he refused.” 

“So now not only have the Tyrells withdrawn their support,” Edwyn said giddy as a little boy on his name day.

“Aegon’s sent half his army to the Reach to recapture Princess Rhaenys.” 

Sansa grinned the foolish dragon had alienated his allies and created a two-front war for himself. He was so desperate to fulfill the prophecy. He needed Rhaenys and his Visenya. His madness would be his undoing. She examined the map on the table and frowned. 

“But who will fight them?” She asked. “The Tyrell men are in the Riverlands they won’t get there in time.” 

“Your husband and Paxter Redwyne are going to gang up on them. They’ve laid an elaborate trap for him.” 

She felt a familiar pang in her chest and wrapped her hands around her distended stomach. Her husband was going to be in even more danger. She was proud of him but still. She wished now more than ever that he was a better and more dutiful letter writer. Septa Haigh had tried to comfort her saying that some men were warriors and others poets but that didn’t make her feel any better. 

“We should proceed with caution.” Ser Dayne warned. 

“King Aegon is a desperate and delusional man. That is a lethal combination.” 

“Don’t call him that” She snapped. Everyone turned to look at her in shock. She never talked like that to her elders. Sansa’s cheeks turned pink but she held her ground.

“He is not our king and he never will be.” She declared. 

Ser Goodwin gave a nod of approval and Maester Luthor smiled. Ser Dayne studied her with his intense purple eyes. She stared back. She didn’t know what was coming over her she knew it was rude to stare but she refused to blink. Suddenly a smile spread across his face. 

“Aye my lady.” 

\-----

When the threat of loyalist troop was immanent Sansa kept to her word and opened Riverrun, allowing the smallfolk to take shelter behind their walls. Hoster and the cobbler’s young children chased Honey around the courtyard, while Brynden caught frogs with the miller’s boys and many women came up to Sansa with advice for her pregnancy. They told her that since she was carrying low and her skin was dry she was probably carrying a boy. Older women would come up to her and tell her that she was Lady Catelyn reborn, while young maidens would cautiously approach her with questions about her hair and dress. Sansa, Alyce, and Roslin spent many pleasant hours creating intricate hairdos for crofter’s daughters and fisherman’s wives had would rival anything seen in King’s Landing. 

She could tell that her Lannister cousin did not approve of how familiar she and her brothers were with the smallfolk but the Lannisters had never been known for being humble. Things were cramped and noise and she felt sorry for Edwyn Pryce who was always bustling about trying to organize the chaos but it was worth it. Still, she tried to play host and appease them. Since the great hall had been turned into a mess hall, she started holding dinner in her solar. 

\----

“I received a raven from Great Uncle Black Fish this afternoon.” Sansa announced over supper. 

It was an odd twist of fate that the Black Fish should be playing at diplomacy while her father was stuck on the battlefield. Each man was far better suited to the other’s job, but they were just at the wrong place at the wrong time. 

Hoster was busying feeding scrapes to Honey under the table and Brynden was making forts out of his vegetables but her cousins all looked up from their plates. 

“I still can’t believe he’s marrying the Maid of Tarth.” Gerold murmured dipping his black bread into his oxtail soup. 

“Bethany Redwyne is a great beauty yet he rejected her and married with the ugliest woman in all of Westoros.” 

“Mayhaps he acts out of ambitious. Now he will be Lord of Tarth after Lord Selwyn passes.” Tyblot suggested talking through a mouthful of venison pie but Damon shook his head. 

“The Black Fish never cared for such things.” 

“Anyway,” Sansa said loudly trying to get their attention back. “He’s been treating with Queen Arianne and Dowager Queen Elia and they’re working with the rebels to eliminate all the wildfire in the capital. He even offered to release Quentyn if they got the Aegon to agree to leave Arya be, but unfortunately, they both claim to have no control over Aegon.” 

“That’s obvious.” Tyblot snorted before tossing a tiny fried fish into his mouth.

Sansa grimaced. He always ate them like that bones and all. It couldn’t be good for his teeth. 

“Well, the point is that he’s building a good relationship with the future Queen Regent.” Edwyn said picking the gristle from his teeth. 

She smiled at the steward glad that at least someone was paying attention. 

“I’m not so sure about that.” said Damon his lips stained with sour red. “Queen Arianne will probably raise her children to loathe those who participated in the rebellion.” 

He said waving about his capon. When he was finished he punctuated his point by taking a big juicy bite. 

“The Targaryens think they’re above us, more than human and that’s what leads to them being out of touch and frankly delusional rulers. Even though Queen Arianne’s children aren’t products of incest, they're products of inbreeding. That’s why I think Tommen’s a better choice.” 

Tybolt looked uncomfortable and buried himself even deeper into his cup of Arbor Gold. Gerold quickly changed the subject. Sansa’s mother had told her that it was always a bad idea to talk politics at supper but it was difficult to avoid when one was in the middle of a war. Damon's support of his father agenda unnerved Sansa. This war was about righting the injustices done to the Starks not advancing Lannisters and Baratheons.

\---  
That night Sansa and Arya curled up in bed and talked about names. She already knew that she would name it after her mother if it was a girl, but she had yet to settle on a boy’s name. 

“I like the name Benjen but I hate the nickname Benny, and I just know all the children would call him that.” 

“It doesn’t matter what you name your child, children will find a way to tease them. Robb had tons of nicknames for me, Arya Underfoot, Horse face, Arya the Annoying.” 

They both laughed. 

“Did you love him?” 

Sansa wasn’t sure what to make of the question. No matter what she said she felt like she would be betraying one of Arya’s brothers. 

“I was infatuated with him.” 

“Figures," She said rolling her eyes. "girls were always falling all over themselves to get to Robb.” 

“Your brother was very charming, and always knew how to put me at ease. But Jon is my husband and I will love him for the sake of our children.”

“What so you’ll love him just because he got you with child?” 

Arya sat up and scrutinized her with her piercing eyes. Sansa could already see where Arya’s mind was going.

“No, it’s not like that. It’s just…” She trailed off. 

It was so hard to explain. Especially since she’d been separated from her husband for most of her marriage and what little time they did spend together….well…there hadn’t been a lot of talking. He hadn’t bared his soul to her or spoken in poetic verse like in the songs but they had something…a connection. 

“What I little I know of Jon I find admirable, and he seems easy to love.” Sansa blushed and felt slightly flustered.

It didn’t help that Arya was staring at her intently as if trying to solve a complex puzzle.

“After all we’re going to spend the rest of our lives together. We owe it to ourselves to make our marriage a success.” 

She was almost asleep went she heard Arya whisper. 

“Are you sure the baby is Jon’s?” 

“What?” 

Sansa jerked back as if she’d been physically slapped.

“Of course, I’m sure.” 

Arya squirmed uncomfortably and picked at the embroidery on the blanket. 

“It’s just there are rumors that Robb took his martial rights before he left for King’s Landing.” 

All over her body her skin turned bright red, as red as the bleeding comet. 

“What? No! Who’s saying this?” She hissed her voice going higher and higher with each word. 

Sure, she and Robb had kissed and held hands. Once she’d felt his hardened manhood brush against her through their layers of clothes but that was as far as things went. 

“Seven hells, calm down! No one important just people.” Arya said holding her hands up. She honestly seemed surprised at how upset Sansa was.

“If it were true Jon won’t care. The baby will still be a Stark.” 

Arya’s naivety astounded Sansa. Of course, Jon would care. Sure, he would be too gentlemanly to cast her aside but it would eat at their marriage. If he believed the rumor he would look at her firstborn as a stain, a constant reminder that he was married to his dead brother’s intended, living a life that was meant for Robb. She wasn’t sure if she could love Jon if he didn’t love their child. 

“I swear on the Maiden that Jon is the only man I have ever slept with.” 

“Alright, no need to get defensive.” Her good sister grumbled burying her face in the pillow. 

That night as she drifted off to sleep Sansa prayed to the mother that her child would be the spitting image of Jon and free his mind of any doubts.


	14. Chapter 14

Sansa hadn’t realized how much she’d missed her father until she saw him riding through the courtyard on his brindle palfrey, Water Dancer, looking bedraggled and weary but well. His had a scraggy beard and his breeches were caked with mud but it was still her father. She knew that the loyalists were on their tail and that the future was still dark and uncertain but just seeing him made a bubble of hope swell up inside her. 

Honey barking and yipped like a maniac running around his master in circles. Brynden and Hoster where both vibrating with energy and excitement. She was very proud that they managed to stand and wait rather than rushing up to their father. 

“Gods look at you.” He pulled her into a fierce hug and pressed a kiss to her forehead. She clutched at his doublet and all the sudden she was crying into his shoulder. She didn’t know if they were tears of joy or sadness all she knew was that she missed him. She missed being a child, she missed feeling safe, she missed having someone to turn to. 

“I’m here sweetling, I’m here” He whispered as Brynden and Hoster tugged at him demanding attention, and answers to a million questions.  
\-----  


For once they were all enjoying a quiet lazy afternoon. Sansa worked on embroidering her blue baby blanket, she’d stitched silver flying trouts in the top right and the bottom left corner, and now she was working on a white direwolf in the top left corner. Roslin was working on a little baby onesie while warily watching Arya out of the corner of her eye. Her god sister was hard at work whittling a wooden sword for Hoster ( a belated name day present.) Damon was sitting at the desk writing a letter and his brothers sat on the settee playing cyvasse. For a few hours, they could ignore the fact that the enemy was practically at their door breathing down their necks.

“Who are you writing to?” Gerold asked as he took Tyblot’s elephant piece.

“Father.” Damon said before pressing his seal in the crimson wax.  
“The Tyrells are survivors and after we win they’ll want to make an alliance. So, I’m going to ask father for permission to court Margaery.” 

“What?” Gerold gaped. His emerald eyes turned hard and Tybolt glared at his eldest brother.

“Oh come on Ty, we both know a girl like that would never go for the second son of a second marriage. Besides the golden rose would make a perfect Lady of Casterly Rock.” 

Sansa couldn’t help but roll her eye. Her Aunt Cat had told her that Damon had gotten cocky since he’d been declared heir but she hadn’t thought it would be this bad. She took comfort from the fact that Aunt Cat and Uncle Tywin were planning on sending him to foster at Dragon Stone with Lord Stannis. He would loathe it but it would do him good.

“Don’t count your chickens before they’ve hatched.” 

“Oh, please my only competition is Prince Quentyn and he’s our captive. If I really wanted I could march into his cell and run him through right now.” 

“Then there would be nothing to keep me from plucking my rose.” 

“She would never love you.” Tybolt muttered bitterly. 

Before Damon could respond, Sansa’s lord father walked in looking solemn and deeply shaken. 

“Uncle?” Gerold said timidly. 

Edmure took a deep breath as if gathering his thoughts and looked around the room.

“Everyone, there uum some important news.” All eyes were on him. Sansa didn’t know what he was waiting for. It was as if his throat as closing up refusing to let the rest of his words come out. 

“There’s been an assassination attempt.” 

Roslin dropped her sewing, Gerold’s jaw dropped and the smug grin vanished from Damon’s face. Arya continued to whittle her face just as unreadable as before. 

“Ser Gregor Clegane snuck into the royal nursery and tried to kill the baby princes. Luckily Oberyn Martell was guarding his niece’s rooms and heard something.”

Sansa felt ill. How had it come to this? How had everything turned so ugly and wrong? She’d seen the Mountain that Rides only once at a tourney in Lannisport for Damon’s thirteenth name day. He was jousting and when he lost he became so angry that he chopped his horse’s head off. She still remembered the gushing blood and the horse’s final whinny. She had nightmares after that and her father had let her sleep in his bed. 

“What happened?” 

“The Red Viper smashed the Mountain’s head against the wall until it was pulp.”

Sansa wrinkled her nose in disgust but Arya and the boys looked impressed. 

“Queen Arianne has sent her youngest with Ser Oakheart and Ser Whent. They’re taking him to some safe haven. She’s convinced that this was a rebel plot and is refusing to treat with your uncle or anyone else.” 

“Clegane’s a Lannister man and is too thick to act on his own.” Arya said glaring pointedly at Damon. 

“Well, since the assassin’s dead there was no one to question. Things still aren’t clear.” Edmure said diplomatically. 

“Oh it seems very clear to me. With Aerys and Aemon dead Tommen would be King. That’s plenty of motive.” 

“A lion does not concern himself with the opinions of sheep.” Damon replied haughtily. 

Arya abruptly stood up knocking the wooden sword she was whittling to the floor with a loud thud.

“I’m not a sheep, I’m a wolf. You best remember that little cub.” She growled and bared her teeth. With that, she sheathed her dagger and marched out of the solar. 

“I think you’ve taken a shine to her” teased Tybolt, desperately trying to cut the tension. Damon chucked an apple at his head and missing spectacularly.  
\-----  
That night after they tucked Brynden and Hoster into bed Sansa pulled her father aside. He looped his arm through hers and escorted her back to her bedchamber.

“We must support the Martells.” 

Puzzled, his bushy eyebrows furrowed and he pulled her closer to him. 

“The Martells? Sweetling, we’re at war with the Martells. Are you feverish?” 

He pressed his palm to her forehead looking worried. 

“No, not like that.” She said shaking her head and removing her father’s hand. 

“We must support the Martell claim over the Baratheon one. We must make it clear that we are for Arianne and Aerys.” 

“Well, of course. Aerys is next in line after Aegon. But right now we need to be focusing on defending Riverrun. Later we can….” 

“What if we release Quentyn?” She blurted out. “As a goodwill gesture.” 

Then her father gave her the look, the look that said that her heart was far too big. It was usually her great uncle who gave her that look, not her father. They were both idealists, he was the one who taught her to be compassionate and that a true lady is kind to even the meanest beggar. Had war turned his heart cold? From what she’d heard he wouldn’t be the first. 

“Sansa, he’s our most valuable hostage.” 

“He’s not valuable to the dragon, he doesn’t care for his wife or her family.” 

No one could deny it. Sansa was sure that beast would kill Arianne if that’s what it took to complete his strange vision. 

“If we return the Queen’s brother, she’ll believe that we weren’t involved with the plot against the princes.”

Edmure stopped in his tracks and cocked his head to the side. She seemed to have struck a chord with him.  
He smiled at her his eyes filled with love and pride. 

“You always were clever, just like your mother.”  
\-------  
It was quite a feet for Sansa to climb up the spiral stairs of the eastern tower now, with her knees aching and her enormous belly but she needed to see Quentyn.  
When she opened the door he scuttled into the corner like a frightened animal. His clothes were unkempt and his eyes are red as if he’s been crying. As so as he realized it was her he schooled his expression into one of haughty disdain. 

“Hello, would you care for some dornish red?” 

She sat down on the rickety chair and poured a goblet for each of them. He waited for her to take the first drink. She took a sip and studied him. He wasn’t the scared and somber lad she’d first meet. She could tell he was resentful about Roslin. Mayhaps he had hoped that after their last meeting she would allow them to meet again, mayhaps being in captivity was starting to bring out the worst in him. Whatever if was, it had killed whatever ease and companionship had ever been between them. 

“Why the sudden hospitality?” 

Fine, if he wanted to get straight to business she could do that. Sansa smoothed out her dove grey skirts and cleared her throat. 

“I presume you’ve heard the news for King’s Landing?” 

“About my nephews? Yes, my guard was kind enough to tell me.” 

“I also heard that your husband is riding to the Reach, is he going to slay my cousin?” 

“I assure you that is not his intent.” Even though he had no way of communicating with the loyalist she couldn’t share their strategies with him. It surprised her how badly she wanted to spill everything just to defend her husband’s character. It must be pride. 

“They say the Starks want to eliminate all Targaryens. It won’t surprise me if he gutted her right in the Sept.” 

She kept her serene porcelain mask in place and reminded herself that he didn’t know Jon. He didn’t know that he was a kind and generous soul, not the rage fuelled savage the loyalists portrayed him as. A small voice in the back of her mind pointed out that she didn’t know Jon either. She’d spent three days with him and heard stories from his relatives but that didn’t really count. If she were truly honest he was somewhere in the grey area between stranger and friend. But then why did he feel like so much more?  
Now, was not the time for such thoughts not with Quentyn staring her down. 

“You will be released soon and there’s something I would like you and your family to know.” 

Quentyn was sulking and picked at his nails absently but she could tell he was listening. 

“We may be on opposite sides of this war but your nephew is innocent.” She continued her voice soothing and melodic. 

“He is also the rightful heir.” 

“Yes, and both House Tully and House Stark will support his claim.” 

She knew it was a bit presumptuous to speak on behave of House Stark, but her husband was an honorable man and she knew he hated the Baratheon’s and their scheming. She knew he was disgusted by the recent assassination attempt as she was. She had thought of inviting Arya to come and represent House Stark with her but something told her that her good sister would be as skilled at diplomacy as a kraken is a riding a horse. 

“It’s not a claim the Iron Throne is his!” 

Quentyn took a long swig from his goblet and studied her.

“Why should I believe you? You and your husband are rebels and traitors, plus your aunt is a lioness.” 

The prince was looking at her she was a pile of horse dung but she held her head high refusing to let him get to her. 

“I may be many things, but I am not a schemer and neither is my lord husband.” 

She stood up with great effort. Her knees cracked as she moved and she winced. Being great with child was hugely inconvenient. She had always prided herself on her gracefulness and now she couldn’t even stand up without being ungainly. 

“I understand your reluctance to believe your captors but I hope that we can earn your trust with time.” 

Just as she was about to leave she turned around and said. 

“By the way, I’m granting Roslin permission to visit you again. After all, we are at war we should all try and find happiness where we can.” 

Roslin’s father would never concern himself with his daughter’s happiness so Sansa felt it was her duty to let the girl experience some. 

\---  
During the next sennight, Sansa’s stomach began increasingly sensitive. She was always nauseous and always hungry. It was a terrible combination. Her father was puzzled and said that her mother hadn’t had these problems with any of her pregnancies. Septa Haigh just recommended that she pray more, which was annoying because Sansa was praying plenty. Roslin was full of advice, the Freys were a fruitful bunch so she had been raised around pregnant women. She told Sansa to drink mint tea, sleep with a pillow between her legs and put lavender oil in her bath. On the seventh day, she developed a red bumpy rash on her stomach. Worried, she went to Maester Luthor but he was mystified. 

But then that afternoon an old woman in a purple shawl stopped her in the courtyard. She handed her a small cloth bag. Sansa lifted it to her nose and sniffed it. Sea Salt? The woman just smiled a toothless smile at her curtsied then walked off. It worked like a charm. A few handfuls of sea salt in her bath water and the rash disappeared and as long as she covered her food in salt she had no trouble keeping it down.

For a second she thought of the ancient prophecy said about the prince that was promised being born in salt and smoke, but then she brushed it off. She was a Stark of Winterfell now and Winter was coming. She needed to stop believing in songs and folklore and start being pragmatic. The Northerns were hard chiseled by ice and sleet what would they think of a liege lady who put her faith in prophecies and old wives’ tales. 

\------  
Sansa awoke to the distance banging of war drums. The dragon was coming, coming for her family. What if they really did take Riverrun? She’d probably be taken as a hostage. Then she’d have to give birth to her baby in some dank prison cell. A sudden, intense spasm in her lower back distracted her from those thoughts. She cried out and Arya slowly began to stir next to her. The pain struck again, this time radiating across her stomach, leaving the muscles rigid underneath her palm.

"No No No. Not yet.” She hissed panicking, clenching her thighs together and willing the pain to stop. “Please not yet. It is too soon."

Her mother had delivered late all three times. Why couldn’t she be like that? She’d only been pregnant for thirty-four weeks, if she were to give birth in would only lend weight to the rumors that the baby was Robb’s. Also either her ears were deceiving her or the war had just come straight to them. This baby could not be born right now. It just couldn’t. 

“What’s going on?” Arya asked her eyes blurrily from sleep and her hair a tangled mess. 

Sansa opened her mouth to answer but suddenly a pain shot through her lower back again, accompanied by a warm, wet feeling between her legs. Her first thought is that she must have made water but then she remembered what Roslin had told her about, a mother’s water breaking.

“Get Maester Luthor quick!” 

\---

“The babe is coming and you are doing well, my lady.” Maester Luthor called from between her legs. 

“But what's going on? Are we under attack? Is my father fighting in the vanguard, what about Tyblot and Gerold.” 

“My lady,” Maester Luthor said his voice suddenly stern like when she was young and he used to scold her for not trying harder in maths.

“there is nothing you can do to affect the course of events out there so I suggest that you focus your efforts on the task at hand.” 

“Everything is fine.” Roslin cooed arranging a mound of pillows behind Sansa’s back. “Your brothers are locked away in the nursery and your father’s fighting bravely.” 

Her father, Gods she wishes her father were here for her now. 

“Here, perfect” Alyce said slipping Ashara’s bracelet around her wrist, and her mother’s rune necklace around her clammy neck. 

“They’ll protect you.” 

“Thank you.” Sansa said breathlessly grateful for her friend’s thoughtfulness. Hot tears rolled down her cheeks. Most of the time she could stay strong but right now she needed her mother… She needed her mommy… but the Gods had stolen her from her and it was so unfair. 

Then every one of her muscles tensed and spasmed. She squeezed Alyce’s hand so hard she cracked her knuckles.

“Can’t you see she’s in pain. Give her milk of the poppy!” Arya shouted. 

“No,” Sansa said panting. “they’ll need to save it for the wounded after the battle.” 

The hours seemed to crawl by as she writhed sharp waves of searing pain wracking her body starting in her womb then coursing down her legs and up her back. Arya told her to “quit being perfect and just scream for fucks stake!” and she did. She screaming hoping to drown out the pain. She screamed until she was hoarse and raw. In between the jolts of pain, old Maester Luthor did his best to soothe her with words and herbs. Roslin and Alyce would praise her while Arya paced impatiently and barked at the maester to do more for her. Muffled sounds from the battle outside haunted her, the clash of steel against steel, the screams of dying men, the braying of war horses. She was fighting for her life while her father was outside doing the same. The windows were drawn and the candles lit and but Sansa wished they would throw open the drapes instead, so she could properly judge whether it’s still day. The sounds of the battle grew closer and closer. The thundering of a battering ram rang through her head. 

Sansa clutched at the sweaty bed linens with her shaking hands. Roslin held up a cup to her cracked and dried lips. 

“Drink, Sansa it will give you strength.” Sansa greedily slurped down the honeyed water. She tried to focus on the coldness of the water and the sweetness of the honey and block out her headache and sore muscles. Alyce held her hand and wiped the sweat from her brow with a cool cloth. 

“I need to know, what’s happening.” 

“Arya go find out what’s happening. Who’s winning …” 

“Fuck that, I’m not leaving you now.” 

Just as she was about to thank Arya another wave of pain crashed our her enveloping her. She felt so faint, her heart was beating so rapidly and her vision was blurring around the edges. She wondered if this was what her mother had felt like when she’d been dying. 

“Arya,” Sansa croaked out her throat as dry as Dorne. Her good sister knelt at her side.

“Arya, if I die.” Arya glared at her, her eyes hard as steel. 

“You’re not going to die.” 

Sansa licked her cracked lips tasting blood in her mouth. 

“But if I do I want you to tell Jon.” 

“No!” 

She grabbed Sansa’s hand and held it so tight that Sansa could see the whites of her knuckles. 

“You’re not going to die you hear me!” 

In that moment Sansa believed her. She knew that if the Stranger tried to take her Arya would fight him tooth and nail. 

Without warning a ball of fire came crashing through the window. Shards of broken glass when flying everywhere. Alyce shrieked, Roslin turned white as a ghost and grabbed on to the bed post. Sansa prayed that this was some wild fever dream. Arya snatched the quilt from Sansa’s bed and rushed over to the fire trying to smother the flames. The quilt caught on fire and Arya dropped it cursing. The flames were licking at her bed linens and burning up the rug, which was a Tully family heirloom. 

“Alyce water now!” 

“Push my lady. Push!” Maester Luthor ordered as Sansa’s body twisted with yet another contraction. 

Alyce grabbed Sansa’s wash basin and raced over to the fire. This was it, Sansa thought, this was how it would all end. Burned to death on her birthing bed, she had to be the first woman to go through this. 

“Fucking shit fuck!” groaned Arya stepping on a shard of glass. As Alyce poured water over the fireball she tripped dropping the basin to the ground. The fire started to devour the tapestry of Runestone that hung on the back wall. Sansa squeezed her eyes shut, tried to block everything out and pushed. They wouldn't be able to get her out alive but if she just birthed the babe, it might make it out. The room was filled with smoke, coughing, cursing and screaming and suddenly a high pitched piercing wail drowned out the cacophony of chaos. 

That was the cry of a babe, her baby. She’d done it. It didn’t matter that her room was on fire and that they were under siege. She’d done it, she and Jon had a child. She leaned back against the mound of pillows pushed behind her back as the maester swaddled her pink –faced squalling babe, and Roslin dumped a pitcher of water on the smoldering rug. 

“It’s a boy, my lady. You have a healthy son.” Maester Luthor declared infant and handed her her son. 

Sansa held him in the crook of her arm; too worn and exhausted to do anything but stare at him, could only trace her fingertips over his delicate cheeks and nose, fold his tiny hands inside her own, kiss the top of his head, pressing her lips to his soft dusting of copper hair. He blinked up at her revealing his Stark grey eyes. Grey and red. Ice and fire.

As she started down at her son’s stormy grey eyes Sansa’s vision began to blur. She heard Roslin screaming Alyce crying and Arya cussing but it all seemed so far away. Darkness began to close in on her and the sounds were echoing reverberating through her head. 


	15. Chapter 15

She woke up to the high-pitched cries of her son. Groggily, she looked around and noticed that this wasn’t her room. She was in one of the guest bedroom.  
There was a timid knock at the door. Sansa groaned and tried to sit up. She didn’t realize how sore her body was until she tried to move, each of her muscles screamed in protest.

“Hello, sweetling.” Her father entered with Roslin and Arya in toe. Roslin’s right arm was covered in a long white bandage but other than that they all looked well. 

“How are you feeling?” 

“What happened?” She asked her voice thin and brittle. Embarrassed she cleared her throat and tried again. 

“How many casualties did we suffer? Are the boys alright?” 

“We won and your brothers are fine. Just leave the rest to us and you concentrate on this little fellow.” 

He grinned goofily at the bundle in the bassinet, his first grandchild. He gingerly scooped him up and held him in the crook of her arm. 

“Gerold was stabbed and Maester Luthor says he will always carry a scar.” Roslin said calm and collected as if she was reading facts off a sheet of parchment. 

“Tybolt broke his right arm, and Damon’s ear was sliced off.” 

“What about you?” Sansa asked gesturing to Roslin’s bandaged arm. “Did the fire get you? Is Alyce alive?” 

“Alyce’s fine.” Arya assured her. Roslin gave her a pointed look. “Well, her legs are covered in burns but she’ll be fine.” 

“Did you?” 

“Yeah, on my back but I’ve had worse.” Arya shrugged. 

“We were lucky.” Roslin nodded at that. 

“What of the craven dragon?” 

“Ser Arthur Dayne slew Aegon.”

Her eyes widen and her jaw dropped. Ser Arthur Dayne, from King’s guard to Kingslayer. It was almost as bad as Queen Elia, although technically she was both a kingslayer and a kingslayer. Meanwhile, others would think him a hero and called him Ser Dayne the Dragon Slayer. One thing was for sure this was not helping Dorne’s reputation. It would forever be known as the land that produced not one but two kingslayers. 

“How did it happen?” 

“He scalded the walls and broke in right after his men started lobbing those fire ball. He grabbed one of the servants put a sword to her throat and ordered her to take him to the nursery. Thankful Ser Arthur intercepted them and ran him through with his sword right outside the nursery door.” 

“I can’t believe he’d go for the children.” Roslin said scratching the bandage covering her burnt arm. 

“Mayhaps he was trying to avenge the attack against his sons.” Edmure speculated as he gently rocked his grandson back and forth in his arms. 

Arya started fidgeting restless and picking at the hem of her tunic. Sansa’s mouth turned into a thin line. They both knew that Aegon had been searching for his daughter with Arya, his Visenya. 

“Well anyway, the point is the war is over. Long live Prince Aerys!” 

Over. It was truly over. They were at peace. For the first time since she’d heard of Robb’s grisly death she could rest easy.  
\--

Sansa grinned down at her son as he nibbled on his toes. He was a jolly baby who gave everyone gummy smiles. Hoster was taking his new responsibilities as an uncle very seriously and was sharing all his toys with his new nephew. While Brynden insisted that he and the baby sleep in the same room so he could protect him from shadow cats and wargs. She found his argument touching but told him that her son would be sleeping in her bedroom until he could sleep through the night. 

“I know I want to give him a Stark name but I can’t decide which one. I’ve narrowed it down to Edwyle, Rickard or Benjen ” 

She thought it was far too early to name her son after Lord Brandon, and naming him after Robb would be in bad taste. Arya furrowed her brow in thought as she sharpened her sword. 

“I think Jon would like Benjen best. He’s always admired Uncle Benjen. He was planning to join the Night’s Watch before the war.” 

Sansa’s stomach flipped and her heart sank. Jon in the Night’s Watch? Gods, that meant he’d never imagined himself with a wife and child. He hadn’t wanted this, he hadn’t wanted any of it. Mayhaps he didn’t write to her because she resented her, resented that he was forced to give up his dream in order to fulfill his brother’s commitments. 

“I know you hate the nickname Benny, but you could always call him Benji.” 

Benji, it was cute and sweet. She liked the sound of Benjen, it was strong but warm. But would naming him after the Ranger remind Jon of what he had given up? Or would it be a fitting tribute? She’d have to trust that Arya knew Jon best. 

“Benjen it is then.”

\-----  
Sansa carried her baby to the Sept as soon as her feet were steady enough, and named him in the shining light of the Seven, the Septon placing a drop of oil on his forehead as the colors from the crystal dance across his face. 

“It was a lovely ceremony.” Alyce said beaming.

She’d been walking on air ever since her father finally accepted Ser Balon’s proposal on her behalf. He had lost an eye in the battle for Riverrun, but she didn’t mind. She said the eye patch made him look “rakish.” Sansa was happy for her even if her constant cheeriness was grating and made her turn green with envy. 

“If only Jon could have been there.” Arya groused glowering at Damon. 

“Yes, well someone has to hunt down the last of The Mad King’s inner circle.” 

“I still don’t understand why Lord Tywin doesn’t have his own men hunt his lands and let Jon go home.”

Sansa didn’t say anything but she agreed with her good sister. She understood the importance of tracking down men like Lord Jon Connington, Richard Lonmouth, and Myles Moonton. But why did her husband have to be the one stamping out the loyalist threat? The war was over. The storm lords had gone home so why couldn’t the lords of the North? 

“Father’s got his hands full finding all the Mad King’s wildfire caches.” Gerold replied, defending his father like the dutiful son he was. 

Arya had been thinking about leaving Riverrun for Winterfell but decided to wait for her brother. Sansa was glad she was staying, she told herself that it was because she wanted Benjen to be around his family, but honestly, she was becoming strangely fond of the savage brute of a girl. 

“Mayhaps he’ll be here by my wedding day.” Alyce giggled.  
\----

The day of the wedding Sansa rubbed rose oil into Alyce’s skin while Roslin brushed her butter-yellow hair till it shone. Sansa dabbed berry juice of Alyce’s lips to make them lush and red and brushed powdered chrysocolla on her eyelids making her clear hazel eyes glimmer. They twisted and pinned her locks into an elaborate do, tucking white feathers into her hair to make her look like a true swan. 

\----

As Alyce Pryce became Alyce Swann in the sight of the Seven, Sansa couldn’t help but notice what a beautiful couple they were. Her, in her mother’s cream samite gown trimmed filigree and him in his shining breastplate, and white and black cloak. It didn’t matter that she had ugly burn scars covering her legs, or that Ser Balon had only one eye, they loved each other. Sansa felt a pang of jealous. 

Oh, to marry a man you love and who loves you. That was the way to do it, not marrying some stranger. Alyce and Balon knew and trusted one another. She wondered how long it would take for her and Jon to become like that.  
\----

The great hall was filled with joyful revelers drinking from horns of heather ale and feasting on great joints of aurochs, sausages glazed with beer, roast duck and carrots, crusty bread with honey butter and baked apples served with sharp golden cheese, yet Sansa felt listless. She sat at the high table and watched the bride and groom dancing merrily. 

She and Jon had never danced. She wondered if Jon would ask her to dance if he were here tonight. Would he be twirling her around and around until she grew breathless and dizzy? Or would he be feeding her choice bits of meat from his plate and whispering in her ear? 

Arya slammed her fist down on the table. 

“Guess what I just heard?” She asked grinning triumphantly. 

“What?” 

“Lady Margaery is to marry Tommen Baratheon. So your cousin Damon can go pluck himself, cause that golden rose in gonna be a doe!” She cackled cruelly, spilling her wine as she made air quotes around the word “pluck.” 

With that she downed the rest of her goblet grabbed Wex by the elbow and pulled him to the dance floor. As Sansa watched Arya and Wex make fools of themselves as the other couples gave them a wide birth, her thoughts drifted the Tyrell Baratheon marriage. This alliance did not bode well for Queen Arianne. The plot to eliminate Princes Aerys and Aemon had failed but it seemed her cousin Cersei and Uncle Tywin were not done scheming. Sansa took a sip of her sweet plum wine and sighed. She did not have any desire to play the game of thrones. She just wanted to do her duty and be a benevolent liege lady beloved by the small folk, respected by her bannermen. She couldn’t wait for her husband to return, then they could close this chapter and begin the rest of their lives together. 

“My lady,” 

She turned to see timid Roslin looking at her with those big sad eyes. She flushed and her hands fidgeted with her silver and navy brocade skirts.

“I just I wanted to thank you for letting me see Quentyn before he left.” 

She took her hand under the table and squeezed it. Quentyn had left over a fortnight ago and Roslin had been wandering around Riverrun like a ghost ever since. As improbable as the match was it was clear that she loved him. 

“Of course.” 

“Have you heard anything from him yet?” 

“No, but it’s a long journey and I don’t think he’s got to Sunspear yet. He said that as soon as he does he’ll ask his father for permission to marry me.” 

Prince Doran Martell would be the real obstacle to their union. Lady Margaery was off the market now but there were still both Baratheon girls, and a host of Dornish ladies to contend with. It would be the best match in the history of House Frey if she pulled it off. It was hard to imagine Roslin in Dorne, she was so soft-spoken and reserved yet so was Quentyn. She imagined them in the future the timid Prince and Princess of Dorne ruling over their load, brass, and audacious people. 

“Well, if he doesn’t summon you before Jon arrives, you’re more than welcome to follow us up North.” 

She’s like having a friendly and familiar face at Winterfell, besides the further Roslin was from her father the better.

“Ser Dayne might be coming with us too.” 

“Really? But I thought he’d be returning to King’s Landing.” 

Sansa yawned behind her hand and shook her head. 

“Queen Arianne pardoned him and even asked him to join the prince's guard but…”

She looked over at Ser Arthur Dayne who had Hoster and Brynden mesmerized with tales of the Smiling Knight. Lately, he only seemed comfortable around children, but mayhaps that was because they were the only ones who weren’t treating him differently. 

“he’s not sure if he can guard them after killing their father.” 

Roslin nodded sagely, and Sansa yawned yet again. 

Benjen had kept her up the night before so she decided to retire before the bedding ceremony.  
\----  
She awoke to a loud knocking at her door. At first, she buried her face in her pillows and told herself it was a dream. But the knocking grew louder and louder and Benjen started fussing. 

Frustrated, Sansa got out of bed and opened the door ready to give whoever it was an earful. Tybolt pushes past her and into her bedchamber reeking of wine, sweat, and cloves. 

“Sansa, sorry to bother you.” He mumbled slurring his words together. 

“It’s the middle of the night.” She hissed as she picked Benjen up trying to quiet him. 

“Did I wake the babe?” He blinked owlishly at her before giving her a sheepish grin.

“Oh, sorry cus. Wait I can make it better give him to me.” 

Tyblot reach out his arms to take the baby and lurched forward stumbling into the wall. 

“No.” Sansa pulled her son to her chest and started cooing in his ear. As if she’d trust her child to a drunken buffoon. 

“What do you want Tyblot?” 

He shook his head as if trying to clear with his mind of the effect of all that Dornish red. 

“There’s something I’ve been wanting to tell you for a while and…well it just never seemed like the right moment. You know?” 

And now in the middle of the night, when he was deep into his cup, this was the right moment. She rolled her eyes at him, his brothers were right he was becoming far too much like the Imp. Benjen had quieted down so she put him back down in his bassinet. She sat down on her bed and turned her full attention to her drunken fool of a cousin.

“Say what you need to say and then kindly leave me to my beauty sleep.” 

“On Damon’s last name day Lady Cersei brought her whole brood to The Rock.” 

Sansa nodded failing to see why this was important. 

“And I caught her and Gerold rutting away like dogs in heat.” 

Sansa felt ill. Half brother and sister doing that. It was sickening, it was unthinkable.They were both so beautiful and from such a great house. How could they dishonor themselves so? Mayhaps Tyblot was making it up. But what would he have to gain from that? Besides he got on with Gerold if he was going to set up one of his brothers it would have been Damon. Gods, she’d never be able to look at Gerold the same way again! 

“There’s more! She kept calling him Jaime.” 

Jaime? As in Ser Jaime Lannister, the Golden Lion Cersei’s twin brother? Seven hells, they were as wicked as the Targaryens. She felt a chill overcome her, it was as if an icy wind had ripped right through her.

“No.” 

“Yes. So, then it hit me, Cersei’s children are Jaime’s” 

“What?” 

“Each of her children are pure Lannister through and through not a trace of Baratheon in them.” 

“But that doesn’t…” She stammered shaking her head refusing to pollute her mind with these thoughts. “that…I mean…I don’t look like a Royce but I am one. Some times these things happen.” 

“Sansa, all three births were nine months after one of Cersei’s visits to King’s Landing.” 

Sansa felt as though the breath had been knocked out of her. She sat down on her bed. His eye might be glazed from drink but he was talking sense. Oh Gods be good it was true.

“I would have been happy to take it to my grave but now with father trying to push Tommen on to the Iron Throne.” 

Sansa nodded still in shock. Her cousin staggered over to her and leaned up against one of the bedposts. All of the sudden her skin felt a good deal too small and she desperately wished she could go to not knowing anyone this. Can you unknow something? Because she really wanted to unknown this life was so much simpler before she knew. 

“What should I do?” 

She didn’t want this. She didn’t want to get sucked into the games and intrigues but here she was smack dab in the middle of a scandal that could rip apart two of the great families of Westoros. Arya said that in the North no one cared for the games the high lords played. She could wait to be above the Neck, away from this. 

“When you go back to the Rock tell your mother.” Aunt Cat would know what to do she always knew what to do. “and the Imp.” She added. Tyrion might be a drunken whoremonger but he could stand up to cousin Cersei. He had a devious mind but you needed people with devious minds when dealing with issues like this. 

“Just try and discourage any of Tommen’s ambitions.” 

Tyblot laughed. “They’re Cersei’s ambitions, not Tommen's, but I’ll try.”

“I’m sorry for involving you …I just I didn’t know what to do and I had to tell someone.” 

“Well, I’m glad you told me and not one of your whores.” She said wryly. “Now, go to bed.” 

Sansa tossed and turned all night but she couldn’t sleep. Why had Tyblot had to burden her with this secret? It wasn’t fair, but then nothing ever was. She tried to tell herself that it didn’t matter. Soon Jon would be here to take them to Winterfell, and she won’t have to deal with prideful Lannisters or mummer’s Baratheons. It would be a fresh start. She’d miss Brynden and Hoster, but mayhaps they could be fostered at Winterfell when they were older. 

\------

Sansa got up early. She’d picked out a gown beforehand, turquoise with a square neckline and long bell-shaped sleeves. She put on the last name day present her mother had ever gotten her a silver necklace made of abalone shell and mother of pearl, and the bracelet Lady Ashara had given her. Roslin pileated in fresh pear blossoms into her hair and pulled it away from her face while still leaving it down in the Northern style. Then she brushed powdered mica on her eyelids to bring attention to her eyes. Today, a whole month after Benjen's birth she was finally going to be reunited with her husband. She wanted to him think her more beautiful than when he’d left. 

She paced on the ramparts watching and waiting too nervous to break her fast. The sky was still heavy and dark from the rainstorm last night and the dirt was churned into mud.

Finally her father convinced her to eat. As she sat down to her breakfast of toasted bread and salted cod, a trumpet rang out. 

The returning party halted before the gates, and Sansa let out a held breath to see that the man at the front on the huge palfrey was indeed Jon. The portcullis took an age to raise, and Jon Stark, solemn and wary, kept his eyes level with it until he kicked his horse into a trot. He looked tired, thinner than she remembered, his hair fell to his shoulders in a tangled black mess, and he had a long white scar down his nose and along his jaw. Then he caught her eye, and even at that distance, she could see his eyes light up. The sound of her pounding heartbeat echoed in her ears.

As soon as he dismounted Arya lunged at him, plastering herself to his body. He laughed whispered something in her ear then he picked her up and spinning her around and around like a little girl. She shrieked good-naturedly and ordered him to put her down. She’d never seen Arya so happy. He reluctantly obeyed and put her back on the ground. They were talking softly and touching each other’s faces. Sansa couldn’t hear them but felt jealous of their relationship. She loved Hoster and Brynden but since they were so much younger than her she could not confide in them the way Jon and Arya clearly did with each other. Ghost wagged his tail and rubbed up against Arya, sniffing and scent marking her at the same time.

She sensed Alyce and Roslin fidgeting beside her. She knew they were probably thinking that her husband was slighting her by ignoring her so. But she knew the truth Jon had just fought a war to make sure his sister was safe, so she could wait patiently while he enjoyed his true victory. 

Jon meet her gaze and started walking towards her. Her heart threatened to beat out of her chest. She licked her lips and racked her mind for something to said. Anything. No matter what she said it won’t be enough. There weren’t words for what she felt. She started to curtsy but he grabbed her arm stopping her. He looked down at her and put one hand around her waist and pulled her firmly against him. Sansa put her hands on his chest, and could feel the hard muscle beneath the leather. She clung to him let him sink into her skin and seep down into her bones. He was here, he was alive. She inhaled his scent a heady mix of sweat leather and wood smoke. 

“Welcome back.” She whispered into his brigandine. 

“I missed you.” He sighed his warm breath tickling her neck. 

And just like that they were kissing, and Gods how she’d missed being kissed. It seemed that Jon had missed kissing too. He tangled his hand in her hair plundering her mouth as if he were tried to memorize it, learn it by heart. He groaned into her mouth making a shiver run up her spine. She let herself get lost in the warmth of his embrace and the giddy anticipation coursing through her. Breathless they finally pulled apart for air. 

“There’s someone I’d like you to meet.” 

\------

"His eyes." Jon said softly, his voice threaded with wonder.

“Just like yours.” 

Their son might have been born in the Riverlands but he had the look of the North. It made her heart swell to see them like this, Jon cradling their son in his arms looking at him as though he were a miracle. Their miraculous baby, a baby with fire and ice in his blood.

Sansa shifted closer to him, slide her hand over his. "I named him Benjen. I hope that pleases you."

"It is perfect," He whispered. "He is perfect." 

“I named him after you uncle.” She cleared her throat and decided to dive right in. Why not get it all out in the open?

“Your sister told me that you wanted to join the Night’s Watch because of him.” 

All her unvoiced questions filled the air between them: Do you still wish you could?, Was your sacrifice worth it? Do you regret this, us? She clutched nervously at the velvet of her skirts.

He chuckled and tore his eyes away from their son. He looked at her like she was Naerys, Princess Daeryssa, Lady Shella, and Jonquil all rolled into one. 

“You are a much better lady than the Wall.” 

The hunger and warmth in his voice melted all her doubts away.

\----- 

As they walk down the corridor together Sansa holding Benjen to her chest and Jon holding her free hand they talked of happy things. She told of how Honey was so fond of Benjen that Hoster was starting to get jealous, and he told her about Lady Mormont’s wedding to Small Jon. She knew that eventually, they will have to speak of all the grave matters, and the tragedies great and small that they have witnessed but not today. Today was meant to be a happy day and nothing was going to ruin that. 

Sansa opened the nursery door and there next to Hoster dueling with his imaginary foes, and Brynden who was jumping on his bed sat a strange woman in drab brown clothes nursing a baby. 

“What are you doing here?” Jon snapped. Sansa was taken aback. Her husband was not a rude man by nature but now he was scowling and he was squirming as though his clothes were two sizes too small. 

“Beg pardon, milord.” The wide-eyed woman said, her western accent thick as paint. “The steward told me to keep the baby in the nursery. I meant no harm.”

“Please let them stay.” Brynden pleaded bouncing up and down on his bed. “Sansa wouldn’t let baby Benjen stay with us because she’s a meanie. But now we have a new baby to protect.” 

Hoster nodded and waved his wooden sword about enthusiastically. She smiled at her little brothers even though Brynden had insulted her. It was sweet that they wanted to protect this wet nurse and war baby. They were too young to understand the shame of a noble lord bringing a bastard he fathered in war time. They just saw it as another baby.

“Who’s babe is it?” She casually asked the wet nurse.

Benjen gurgled and grabbed a lock of her hair making a tiny fist around it. The wet nurse turned red and covered herself with a shawl refusing to meet Sansa’s gaze. It was to be expected she was probably just a shy peasant girl. 

She turned to Jon and noticed that he’d gone pale. He was staring intently at the floor as though the answer to all the world’s problems could be found there if he just looked hard enough. He probably thought her too much of a lady to speak of such things. She knew Septa Haigh would be ashamed of her for nosing around for gossip but it was a fairly innocent vice as vices go. 

At first she thought of Dacey and Small Jon but immediately dismissed the idea. It was far too soon. The young Lord Cerwyn had tupped with Brella the cook at their wedding so he was definitely a fan of wenching. It could be his or there was Lord Hornwood. He already had a bastard up North. Or...oh Gods no!

“Is it Lord Bolton’s?” She gasped.

Gods be good this bastard would not be cut from the same cloth as the last. Jon slumped back his shoulders screwed his eyes shut and balled up his fists. It must be the babe of a close confidant, his right hand. Benjen tugged on her hair. Wincing she gingerly tried to free her tresses from his iron grip. She looked up and noticed that Jon was still staring at the floor and his eyes were welling up. Her heart plummeted. 

“Jon?” 

Slowly, he looked up at her his eyes swimming with conflicting emotions. 

“I…I’m so sorry.”


	16. Chapter 16

"Sorry for what?"

It hit her like a wave of icy water crashing over her, submerging her, leaving her frozen and full of heartache. No, Jon wouldn’t do that, Jon was an honorable man. Yet here he was looking guilty as sin next to a bastard baby. How could he? They had promised themselves to each other. He was her’s and she was his. She could feel the pain from his betrayal gnawing at her, eating her from the inside out like a swarm of maggots. Images flashed through her mind of Jon entwined in sweaty drunken coitus with another woman. It was probably some buxom tavern wench or some Lyseni whore, someone more alluring and seductive than her. Had he kissed her the way he kissed Sansa? Had he done that special thing with his tongue? Had he loved her? Shame and rage bubbled up inside her, she was the eldest and only daughter of Edmure Tully Lord Paramount of the Riverlands and Lady Ryella Royce of Runestone, this slight on her honor would not stand. 

“You intend to raise your bastard, some common whelp, alongside your trueborn son?”

Brynden stopped bouncing. He and Hoster were looking at the couple with wide worried eyes. Jon looked around embarrassed. His beard did nothing to hide his flushed cheeks.

“Well the thing is I…” Jon looked like he wanted to be anywhere but here but the daggers shooting from her narrowed eyed pinned him in place. 

“What have I done to deserve such an insult my lord?!” 

Yes, that’s what she really wanted to know. What had she done? What did he think of her that he would treat her in such a way? This proved without a doubt that he did not love or respect her. Mayhaps he didn’t even like her. Clearly, she’d mistook his amorous ardor for affection and fondness. A foolish maid’s mistake if ever there was one. Benjen started sucking on his fistful of Sansa’s hair. She stroked his cheek with her finger and kissed the top of his head. At least there was one Stark who loved her. 

“This isn’t really the place to discuss this.” Jon whispered jerking his head meaningfully toward her two little brothers. 

Brynden was eyeing the wester woman suspiciously while Hoster glared at Jon. He looked like he was on the cusp of throwing a tantrum. He hated whenever anyone fought. He had yet to figure out that yelling at the top of his lungs and ordering people to get along only ever made the situation worse. 

“Mayhaps, it would be best if we retired to your chambers.” He turned to the strange serving woman and gave her a forced smile. 

“Alayne, could you please take Benjen and…” 

Alayne reached out for the infant but Benjen tucked his head in his mother’s shoulder suddenly overcome with shyness. 

“I’m not letting your whore touch the true heir of Winterfell!”Sansa scoffed clinging to her son. 

Alayne shrunk back folding in on herself as if she were trying to disappear. Sansa wasn’t fooled. She’d heard of peasant women tupping with lords and then keeping the baby just so they could get a position in the father’s household. If Jon thought he could bring in his mistress under the guise of a wet nurse he had another thing coming. The bastard let out a screech and Alayne set to work calming the brat. 

Sansa held her head high and marched off to her bedchambers blinking back tears and ignoring the hollering of her husband’s bastard. 

\-------

She put Benjen down in his bassinet for his midday nap, before turning her full attention on her husband. Ghost sat on his haunches looking down at the latest Stark, his new charge. Jon sighed and gazed wistfully at his son’s peaceful form in the cradle. When he met her gaze a pained expression crossed his face and he suddenly looked exhausted. Sansa squared her shoulders and crossed her arms her resolve hardening. His discomfort was palpable but that was just too bad. By the old Gods and new, she would have her answers! He owed her that much at least. She steeled herself for what was to come. 

“Explain yourself, my lord.” 

He sighed and let out a deep breath staring intently at the hem of her skirts. She was about to snap at him to hurry up when he finally started to speak. 

“When we were hunting down Jon Connington we stopped at The Crag and I made a discovery.” His voice was tight and she could sense the tension radiating from him. 

A discovery? She barely managed to contain her snort of disgust. Is that what soldiers were calling it now? 

“It appears that Robb was injured on his way to King’s Landing and stop there”

“Robb?” She interrupted. Could it be? A flicker of hope. 

“But I…I thought the babe was yours.” 

“No,” 

She was instantly flooded with relief. All the muscles in her body relaxed as an enormous weight was lifted from her shoulders. She felt her rage toward her husband melt away. Jon continued to speak but Sansa tuned him out. This changed everything. Jon was still hers and only hers! All of the sudden their future as a couple was looking so much brighter. But even though Jon had been faithful to her Robb hadn’t. Robb’s faithlessness hurt her but in a different and more confusing way than her husbands would have. 

“He was there when he received word of our father’s murder.” Jon intoned somberly bringing her out of her reflection. 

A sullen look was plastered over his handsome features. He cleared his throat and kept going. 

“And…well that night he got a baby on the eldest daughter of the house. The mother, Jeyne, died of birthing fever.” 

A noble woman? Sansa hadn’t imagined that. So not only had Robb dishonored her and himself he’d also dishonored some highborn maid. Jon clenched his jaw and straightened up looking her in the eye for the first time since he’d started talking.

“I’ve brought the baby with me and indeed to raise him at Winterfell.” 

Him? Robb had a son. It felt so strange. Her Young Wolf had a son and the mother wasn’t her. Sansa was meant to be the one bearing him sons. They had promised.  
Jon combed his fingers through his tangled mop of coal black curls. Ghost yawned stretching out his long pink tongue.

“I…I’m sorry to be bearing such news.” 

Sansa nodded listlessly and sank down onto her bed. She didn’t know what to say. At least the baby isn’t yours? What was your brother thinking? Hold me? Ghost started picking burs out of his paws with his teeth. In the tense silence, she could hear Benjen breathing out little breaths that were occasionally accompanied with a tiny coo or gurgle. She felt so small and deflated. Now that the rage was gone all she was left with was sadness and betrayal. 

“Well, I best go prepare for the feast.” He said gruffly edging towards the door.

She wanted to ask him to stay but she knew that was selfish of her. She found his presence reassuring but she knew she would be terrible company.

“I thought…” 

The words slipped from her lips without her permission. 

Jon froze his whole body taut as a strung bow. She swallowed the lump of fear in her throat and kept going. 

“I thought he was a better man than this.” 

Anger flashed in his stormy gray eyes, and he grounded his teeth. 

“So did I.” 

He opened the door and was about to walk out when he turned and called.

“Ghost, to me.” 

Ghost looked from his master to Sansa then at the cradle. He leaped up onto Sansa’s bed and curled up into a ball. She smiled at least the direwolf wouldn’t abandon her in her time of need. Annoyed, Jon sighed and shut the door. Sansa waited until the sound of his footfalls faded into nothing before flinging herself down onto her bed and burying her face in Ghost’s ruff. 

\-------

Sansa lay on her bed her mind swirling with a million thoughts, as down in the Great Hall everyone feasted celebrating the return of the Northern bannermen. She should be there, sitting at her husband’s side celebrating his victory ingratiating herself to his bannermen but she couldn’t. She couldn’t face them now, dishonored as she was. She couldn’t make small talk when all she wanted to do was ferret out the truth. 

Before today she thought she had come to peace with Robb’s death and gotten over any lingering feelings for him. She’d thought of him fondly as something that might have been. But now this new information made her call everything into question. Had Robb regretted his dalliance or was he truly a philander at heart? Before he died did he know that he was to be a father? If Robb had lived would he have told her of his dalliance? What if he was told of his child, would he have kept that a secret as well? She had thought that Robb was just as besotted with her as she was with him but clearly that wasn’t true. 

They’d first meet at The Twins for the marriage of Jojen Reed and Fair Walda Frey. Lord Edmure and Lord Brandon had arranged the marriage to help ease relationships between the cranoggmen and the northern Riverlanders. It was the first time she’d meeting someone from a great house who she wasn’t related to her so she dresses up. She looked elegant in her midnight blue gown with leaping silver dolphins embroidered along the skirts, and morning glory blossoms arranged in her hair. 

Robb had asked for her hand and never let go. They danced all night, and when the bedding happened he’d stayed by her side instead of ripping off Lady Walda’s clothes and ogling her. She’d thought that very gallant of him. Lord Brandon had been watching them all night and approached her father. After conferring with Lord Edmure in hushed tones for several minutes he slammed his fist on the table and bellowed.

“So it’s settled, my boy’ll take your trout for his bitch.” He laughed drunkenly at his saucy jape and winked at Sansa. 

Sansa had blushed and buried her face in Robb’s leather doublet. Her betrothed had laughed heartily and wrapped his arms around her. 

Their courtship had been everything she’d ever dreamed of. He’d given her a beautiful silver brooch shaped like a direwolf’s head with sapphires for eyes. She’d gone hunting with him even though she hated the sight of blood. She got up early to watch him sparring in the training yards and given him her favor to wear. He was such a talented swordsmen and loved to show off for her. When they’d been apart they written to each other faithfully. She’d always slipped pressed flowers or bits of ribbon in with her letters, and he always dabbed his letters with sandalwood oil so they’d smell like him. 

How could he betray her? She knew men had needs but they were to marry soon enough. Couldn’t his needs have waited? Had it all been a lie? Had he truly thought her some dull empty-headed southron? Her stomach turned and she imagined him reading her heartfelt letters and mocking them, congratulating himself on getting a sap to fall in love with him. 

And what of this Westerling girl? He would have barely known her. She didn’t know what would be worst Robb breaking his vow with someone who meant nothing or Robb falling in love with another. If he fell in love with the Westerling maid, then she’d feel rejected and replaced. But if he broke his vow for a drunken fling then that just showed how little he thought of his vow and her. Was she really so trivial to him that he would forsake her for a quick roll in the hay? 

There was a quiet knock at the door and Septa Haigh poked her head in smiling sheepishly. 

“I thought you might like some of these.” She said holding up a plate of sugar coated lemon cakes. 

She sat down next on the bed next to her charge and handed her the plate. Sansa took a deep breath and with great effort managed to sit up. She’d done very little today but she felt tired down to the bone. All of the drama and emotional turmoil had sucked all the energy out of her. She smiled at her septa and took the plate of cakes. 

“How are you fairing sweetling?” She asked her hazel eyes filled with concern. Gods Sansa would miss her. She was like the grandmother she’d never had. 

“It’s a lot to take in.”

The older woman nodded smoothing Sansa’s hair back away from her face. She took a bite of one of the cakes. It was perfect sweet yet tart, airy yet moist, gooey in the center with a flaky buttery crust. 

“I thought he cared for me.” The words came out small and timid like a mouse’s squeak. 

“So did I. So did everyone and mayhaps he did. Men are fickle and ruled by their baser instincts.” She said rubbing Sansa’s back in soothing circles.

“Your husband was rather agitated when he explained the whole situation to your lord father. He said he couldn’t believe that his brother would dishonor you so.” 

Sansa nibbled on her lemon cake and smiled to herself imagining Jon all riled up defending her honor. He was a good man, somber and stoic but good reliable and honest. She could entrust him with her heart. If you had told her when she was thirteen that she’d end up marrying a sullen second son and living in the North, she would have burst into tears. But now she was glad she had Jon. She could imagine him patiently teaching little Benjen how to thrust and parry in the training yard. But where would Robb’s bastard fit in her happy family portrait?

“I…I just wish the babe wasn’t here.” She felt awful as soon as the words fell from her lips but she meant them. “Why couldn’t Jon have left him at The Crag to be raised by the mother’s family?” 

Her septa arched one of his eyebrows and gave her a pointed look. Overcome with guilt, Sansa devoured the rest of her lemon cakes. 

“He’s much less likely to turn against the Starks if he’s raised to think of you as family. If Jon didn’t take the boy the Westerlings would bring him up believing that you’d cheated him out of his birthright and would inevitably plot to destroy you.”

Septa Haigh was right, Sansa hadn’t even thought of that. The sons of the first son come before the sons of the second. So if the bastard was legitimized he would usurp not only Benjen but Jon as well. Gods be good why couldn’t Robb have kept his cock in his breeches! This Hill could be the next Daemon Blackfyre. Well, not as long as she was around. She would stop at nothing to protect her Benji. Ghost licked the sugar from her sticky fingers and the two of them sat in comfortable silence for a moment. 

“Now,” Septa Haigh said patting her knee. “I imagine that you and Lord Stark will be up rather late tonight” 

Sansa’s face flushed at the implication. Before the drama surrounding the mysterious babe, Sansa had been looking forward to spending the night with her husband. 

“And we wouldn’t want to disturb little Benjen here, so why don’t we have him sleep in the nursery tonight.” 

\------

When they opened the nursery door Alayne leaped off her stool and shrank away from the intruders. Sansa gave her a tight shy smile.

“I apologize for my behavior earlier.”

“It’s no problem milady.” Alayne mumbled hiding behind a curtain of her mousey brown hair and standing awkwardly by her charger’s crib. 

Sansa promised herself that she would win Alayne over before they arrived in Winterfell. As the new Lady Stark, she'd need as many allies as she could get. The old servants would be loyal to her good mother, Lady Barbrey, and winning them over would be tricky. She and Alayne would both be outsiders so hopefully, they could bond over that. 

Sansa ran her fingers through Benjen’s copper hair. He nuzzled into her hand happily like a puppy. She grinned and kissed his nose before putting him down in the extra crib.  
She watched as his eyes fluttered shut. It tugged at her heartstrings to think of him sleeping here, away from her but she knew it was for the best. 

She moved over to the next crib and looked down at the war baby. Robb’s big chocolate brown eyes stared up at her. She’d recognize those vibrant warm eyes anywhere. This boy was definitely Robb’s son. He had an olive skin tone and tufts of curly chestnut hair on his head. She thought Benjen was a much bonnier babe but then again she was biased. 

“He takes after his mother?” Septa Haigh asked. 

"Aye, he’s a copy of Lady Jeyne save the eyes.” Alayne said smiling as she reached out smoothing down his hair. 

It hurt to hear the harlot’s name but Sansa remained composed. As she studied the babe she reminded herself that a true lady must be compassionate to all, even those who shame her just by existing. It could be worse much worse. At least he wasn’t Jon’s. 

“What is his name?” 

“Daryn, milady, Daryn Hill.” 

Daryn, it was a good name a Northern name. He was a motherless child, just like her brothers, just like her. 

“Daryn Snow.” She muttered. Daryn Snow, the bastard of Winterfell.


	17. Chapter 17

Sansa brushed out her hair waiting for her husband to arrive. She’d changed into a simple linen nightgown. She’d thought of wearing the shimmery sheer nightgown that her cousin Myranda had sent her, the one barely held together by ribbon but she was too shy. Her body was softer and thicker than it had been when he left. She tried to tell herself that this was a natural part of motherhood but she still felt self-conscious. From what she’d gathered men craved either maidens or whores and now she was neither. Would Jon not want her now? Would he spend their nights together imagining other firmer women? She shook her head. She was letting her imagination run away with her. She was too young to be worn down by worry. She turned her mind to more please things, like her upcoming journey. 

For her ride through the North Sansa had created a mantel made of pure white feathers, dove, raven, goose, all woven together in an intricate pattern and flowing down her back. She wanted to evoke the white raven, echoing her new family’s words Winter is Coming. Sansa had spent many a sleepless night adding silver trim and embroidering direwolves and winter roses onto her clothes. She was the first Lady Stark to be born south of the Neck so she had to be sure that none doubted her loyalty. 

The door creaked loudly and Sansa whipped her head around. There he was Jon Stark, her husband standing in the doorway looking as if he wasn’t sure of his welcome. She smiled warmly at him and put down her hairbrush. That was enough encouragement for him to step all the way in and close the door behind him. Jon cleared his throat and look around the bedchamber puzzled. 

“Where’s Benjen?” 

“In the nursery with his cousin.”

Jon sighed and bent down to take off his boots. 

“I tried to come up with a way for honour to be served without you having to find out the truth. I even thought of telling you that the baby was mine but he has Robb’s eyes.” 

“What? Why would you lie?” Why would he take on his brother’s shame? Why would he damage their relationship so? 

He shrugged unbuttoning his doublet as though he hadn’t just said something that was stark raving mad.

“To preserve your memory of him.” 

That was so foolishly misguided yet honorable at the same time. How could he think that her courtship with Robb was more important to her than her marriage to him? She rose from her vanity and sat down on her, no their, bed. Jon shrugged off his doublet and let it fall to the floor. She folded her hands in her lap and stared at them blankly struggling to give voice to her thoughts and feelings. 

“The thought of you with another woman…” 

She felt the bed dip as Jon sat down next to her. He reached out and gently tilted her chin upwards directing her gaze toward his deep grey eyes. 

“I would never…” 

“I know.” She smiled and reached out rubbing his beard affectionately. And she did. Jon might not write her love letters for sing songs of her beauty but he was honorable and true. 

“You mean far more to me than Robb’s ghost.” 

She prayed that he would understand the weight of her words and judging by the way his eyes were boring into hers, he did. She found it hard to get air into her lungs. Her fingers intertwine with his, his calloused palm a delightful contrast against her soft skin. 

“Learning about Daryn has eased my guilt.” 

“What guilt?” 

His expressive eyes were flickering back and forth like he was nervous.

“I’m stealing my brother’s life from him, his title, his home, his wife. All that is mine was meant to be his and I feel guilty benefitting from his gruesome death.” 

Jon's voice grew deeper and harsher with every word. His brow furrowed and what remained of his lips curled down into a scowl.

Her heart ached at the pain in his voice. He couldn’t spend the rest of his life thinking of himself merely as Robb’s replacement. But how was she meant to change that? Time, she supposed, time and encouragement. He’d just have to deal with it. Just as she’d have to deal with her insecurity about being more than a maid but less than a whore. 

“You can’t steal something that’s freely given.” 

He gave her a shy almost grateful smile and kissed her hand. He flashed her a feral grin making her stomach swoop. 

“But now…” He said brushing his hands over her knees, skimming them up over her thighs “any man who could throw all this away on some whim doesn’t deserve you.” 

She bite her lip as he hunkered down between her legs and pushed her nightgown up past her waist. Her body was softer than it was when he last saw it, and she was afraid he might mislike the silvery lines scattered across her belly.

“Gods, I missed you.” He muttered as he traced her scars with his fingertip. 

“You could have written.” 

“I didn’t know what to say.” He whispered pressing a light kiss to the skin below her navel, another to the copper curls around her sex.

"Jon!" She gasped sharply her hips bucking up instinctively. It had been far too long.

He leaned closer to her, his beard scratching against her tender inner thigh as he pressed his mouth to her, as he licked into her with slow curls of his tongue. She couldn't stop herself from letting out a plaintive whine, her breath hitching in the back of her throat. Jon moaned against her, pushing her legs farther apart, burying his tongue deep inside her and suckling on her nub. It felt so shockingly, impossibly good, heat twisting and curling in her belly. His warm breath, soft lips and wet tongue all on her most secret place. He dragged his mouth up to the top of her sex, sliding a slow, wet kiss over her nub. Gods she was close tittered on the edge of bliss. 

Jon shot her a feral grin before taking her nub into his mouth and giving it a long hard suck. She knotted her hand in his hair, her back arching as her thighs started to shake her orgasm ripping through her like a bolt of lighting. Jon kissed the crease of her thigh when she tugged on his hair, then shifted up to lie beside her, wrapping his arm around her shoulder and pulling her to his chest. His cock was hard, curving against the front of his breeches, but he made no move to touch himself, just brushed his fingers through her hair as she caught her breath.

Once her heartbeat slowed down and her sweat cooled Sansa reached forward and began hurriedly unlacing his breeches. She pushed his smallclothes down over his hip relieving his manhood erect and purple with arousal. Acting on impulse she reached out and grabbed it by its root. His length felt thick and hard in her tight grasp. Jon gasped bucking his hip, fucking into her hand with wild abandon. With one hand she teased the leaking slit with feather light touches while her other hand pumped up and down. It took only three pumps before Jon let out a deep primal growl and she felt a warm wetness covering her hands. Jon’s face turned as red as her hair and he ducked his head sheepishly. Sansa flushed and wiped her hands on her bed linens. She tried not to look at his manhood it looked strange now deflated like a pink snake. 

“I’m sorry. It’s just it’s been so long.” 

“It’s alright we have time.” 

He shucked off his breeches and smallclothes and suddenly there he was bare as on his first name day. She noticed the way the play of light from the roaring fire in the fireplace highlighted each and every muscle in his tall frame. He really is beautiful, she thought as she took in his skin noticing the crisscrossing silvery scars. She’d never heard of a man being described as beautiful before but there was no other word for it. Jon lay down on the bed next to her. Sansa took at a deep breath steeling her nerve. She pulled her off nightgown over her head and tossed it haphazardly on the floor. She barely had time to note the ravenous glint in his eye before he was kissing her, a deep bruising kiss that made her toes curl. 

He took one breast in each huge hand -- gods, his hands, calloused from holding shield and sword, rough against the sensitive skin of her nipples -- and buried his face between them peppering them with kisses. Sansa plastered herself to Jon’s body trying to lose herself in sensation. Sansa gasped as Jon swirled his tongue around her right nipple before latching on. He pinched her other nipple rolling it between his fingers until it pebbled and hardened. It would be so easy to just let herself be overcome by pleasure. But she had something else in mind. So Sansa pulled herself up off the bed to straddle Jon's waist. He smiled up at her stroking her trembling thighs with his hands.

“Gods your skin is so smooth and flawless. It’s like you’re made of porcelain.” 

Sansa leaned down and licked the hollow of Jon’s throat. Relishing the taste of Jon’s sweat and the heat of his skin. Sansa ran his fingers back and forth through Jon’s smattering of chest hair. She mouthed along the ridge of Jon's collarbone, nipping gently at the junction of neck and shoulder. 

“mmm you’ve grown bolder.” He murmured his voice husky with arousal and thin from surprise. 

“Do you approve my lord?” She asked playfully before sucked greedily at his pulse point. Grinning triumphantly when she felt Jon shiver under her attentions. 

“Gods, yes!” Jon’s breath hitched giving Sansa a thrill. 

Sansa grinned into Jon’s chest and decided to try something new. She had been frightened of bollocks at first they seemed strange and unnatural. But after Alyce’s wedding night she had confided in Sansa telling her that touching Balon there drove him wild. So cautiously Sansa reached down and fondled her husband’s balls. Jon growled thrusting his hips up eager for more. Well, look at that Alyce was right. 

Feeling Jon hard manhood rutting against her sent a wave of want coursing through Sansa. She let out a breathy moan as she ran her thumb back and forth over the line in the middle of Jon’s sack. Sansa looked up to see Jon panting, eyes blown with desire. She shivered under the intense heat of Jon's gaze. Nothing was sexier than being wanted. Sansa’s rolled Jon’s balls in her hand while massaging the skin behind them with her thumb.

“Your hands are quite deft.”

Sansa grinned feeling herself flush at the compliment. 

“Years of playing the harp.” 

Jon’s fingers traced the lip of Sansa’s cunny, testing to see if she was ready. Sansa shuddered. She was wet with anticipation. 

“Now, whenever you’re playing the harp my mind will be plagued with filthy thoughts.” 

Sansa giggled into Jon’s chest. She never really though the sex would be….fun. She sat up on Jon’s lap. She gripped Jon’s manhood in one hand, guiding it into her quivering hole. Jon let out a low deep groan as Sansa slowly slide down, taking Jon inside of her inch by inch. Sansa moaned, still taking him in. It wasn’t a pain but a stretch like using a muscle you’d never used before. Finally, she was seated on Jon's cock, panting. Gods, she felt so wonderfully full. Had he always felt this big and warm inside her? She hadn’t remembered that part. 

She experimented flexing and the muscles in her cunny squeezing Jon. Sansa looked down at her husband his eyes rolled back into his head clutching at the bed linen’s his knuckles turning white. She was grateful that Jon had made this so easy and comfortable for her. Sansa had worried that her husband would just slam into her, and manhandle her and use her body for his own pleasure. But Jon let her take the lead; letting her experiment and figure out what she liked. For the first time in a long time, she felt lucky. 

Sansa’s hips began desperately undulating of their own accord. Jon gave his hips a sharp thrust. A desperate whimper ripped from Sansa's throat and she felt herself arching into Jon. Her hands found purchase on Jon's lower stomach. 

“I love watching you take me.” Jon groaned. 

Sansa moaned as she began to move back and forth, rising and falling on Jon's manhood in a steady rhythm. Jon tenderly caressed Sansa’s thighs and letting his wife ride him. Her nails dug into Jon’s abs as white-hot pleasure coursed through ever nerve of her body. Feeling her orgasm building, she literally started bouncing up and down on Jon’s thick cock. 

Suddenly Jon sat up and wrapped his arms around Sansa pressing his sweat-slicked body against Sansa's. She let out a startled gasp at the sudden change in the angle then wrapped her legs around Jon to pull him in even closer.

"This is as close as we can be" Jon breathed.

Sansa’s heart skipped a beat. This suddenly felt a lot more intense and intimate. She could feel Jon, every tiny movement, every wanton gasp, every dreamy sigh. Jon rocked into her while staring into her eyes. Sansa gulped nervously; she had nothing left to hide behind now. Jon's eyes were so blown that their normally grey color was nearly gone. His face was just so open. A cold shiver ran down Sansa’s spine as tendrils of pleasure spread throughout her body.Their eyes stayed locked as their hips rocked in a slow steady rhythm and as the pounding in her ears grew louder and louder. She wanted to say something to Jon, she needed to but her breath was coming in pants now and she felt her long-delayed climax overtaking her making her see stars. Jon’s lips devoured Sansa's as he thrust in and let his orgasm rip through his body, shooting his come deep into Sansa’s soaking cunny. He continued to hold Sansa as they came down from their high. Panting he laid his head on his wife’s shoulder. 

They flopped down onto the bed their legs still intertwined. The warmth of the room lulled Sansa into a place of tranquility, but it was with her arms wrapped around Jon's chest that she finally slept deeply and peacefully. 

\-------

For once Sansa and Jon awoke at the same time. Sansa had to feed Benjen and Jon had morning training. Afterwards, they broke their fast together in her sun-drenched solar. “

“Your father received a raven,” Jon said as he tickled his son’s feet making Benjen giggle and squirm. Sansa nodded and blew on her spoonful of porridge to cool it.

“Apparently Grand Maester Pycelle has been thrown into the black cell. He’s charged with trying to poison Prince Aemon.”

Sansa’s spoon fell to the table with a loud clatter. Grand Maester Pycelle was a loyal Lannister support. Had Tybolt not told Tyrion and Aunt Cat? Had Uncle Tywin ignored his wife and son? Or had the orders come from Cersei? Or maybe Jaime Lannister? He was the closest lion to the crown. Jon’s eyes were burning holes in her. She needed to explain herself. She folded her hands in her lap and stared down at her forest green velvet skirts. 

“There’s something I have to tell you.”  
\-------

Jon shook his head his eyes glazed over with shock and disgust. 

“Gods, be good.” 

“I know.” 

He buried his face in his hands and shook his head. Benjen gurgled happily and stuck his hand in the pot of blueberry preserves.

“I just, I can’t believed she’d have the temerity to flaunt her sins in plain sight like that.” 

Sansa shook her head and watched as her son sucked sticky jam off of each of his chubby fingers. He reached out and was about to dunk his fist in again but she snatched him off the table and set him in her lap. 

“I know, I told Tyblot to tell Aunt Cat, and his half brother Tyrion thinking that they’d know what to do.” She said wiping Benjen’s hand clean with her linen napkin. “I was hoping that they’d convince Tywin to stop scheming to put Tommen on the throne, but apparently not.” 

She took a sip of her mint tea and sighed. She didn’t have the right kind of mind for this. She couldn’t scheme, couldn’t deceive or manipulate. That's part of the reason she was glad that she was going North instead of further south. Sansa was too trusting and too loyal for King's Landing politics. 

“What should we do?” 

“Wait, and see this could just be Cersei machinations or mayhaps the Grand Maester acted on his own.” 

She nodded and prayed to the old gods and new that he was right. Mayhaps she had nothing to worry about. Yet not matter how much mint tea she drank there was still a sinking feeling in her stomach. 

“I know it’s a lot to burden you with but…” 

His eyes softened instantly at her words. 

“No, I’m glad you told me. We shouldn’t keep secrets.” 

“Never.” She agreed. Suddenly everything felt a lot less daunting.  
They were going to put the war and all this ugliness behind them for Benjen’s sake. One thing was for sure when Sansa crossed the Neck she’d be starting a brand new chapter of her life.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don’t want to bash Barbery Ryswell. But in the books we see that she has a great capacity for bitterness. So I figure that after losing the love of her life to an act of senseless violence she’d get bitter.

Four years later----

As Sansa signed her letter to her brother she couldn't help but smile to herself thinking of the fun surprise her children had in store for them today. A few weeks ago Nymeria and Ghost had had a litter of six pups, two girls and four boys. The dove grey female pup had taken to Sansa instantly. Now the master of hounds said that the pups were old enough for the children to meet them and pick out they’re own pup. Watching Jon talk excitedly about what a learning experience this would be for the children warmed Sansa’s heart. 

Before Jon had meet Benjen she had been apprehensive about his abilities as a father. He was a kind man gentle and generous, she’d known that even back then. But he was a bit cold and reserved. The only way he knew how to express himself was…physically. He’d gotten better over the years but they communicated better by making love than by talking. She had worried that Jon would find it hard to be affection with his children but much to her relief he was a loving father. 

Sansa heard some humming and looked over at her two-year-old twins sitting on the fresh rushes and playing with their wooden blocks. Ryella and Rickard were quite a pair with their matching Stark black hair and Tully blue eyes. When they were babes the only way you could tell them apart without undressing them was Ryella’s button nose and Rickard’s smattering of light freckles. Ryella hummed happily and organized her blocks by size shape and color while Rickard stacked up his blocks making a tall tower. 

She couldn’t wait to see the looks on their faces when they saw the pups. She also had another surprise, one for her husband. Maester Luwin had confirmed her suspicions the other day. Sansa was looking forward to telling Jon of their new babe. The first time she’d had to tell him by letter and with the twins Arya had stolen her thunder and blabbed to Jon before she could. She hadn’t decided how to tell him yet. She wanted it to be special, to be perfect. 

Suddenly the door went flying open and Benjen and Daryn burst in with an exasperated Alayne on their heels. 

“Morning, Mother!” Benjen said brightly bounding up to her his flaming corkscrew curls bouncing with each step. 

“Good morning boys.” She said looking around her in confusion. 

The older boys were meant to be having their lessons, yet here they were Daryn sitting next to Ryella and praising her orderly stacks of blocks, and Benjen standing before her biting his bottom lip like he always did when he was about to ask for something. 

“Mother can we go swimming in the Godswood, please? Please?” Benjen begged, pulling at her moss green skirts. 

Arya had taught the boys to swim at year’s end and Benjen was already a fine swimmer. He always beat his cousin when they raced but Daryn didn’t seem to mind. His Great Uncle Ned called him the Winter Trout. He loved splashing about it the water but once he got in it was almost impossible to coax him to get out. 

“Mayhaps later. Aren’t you two meant to be learning your letters with Maester Luwin?” 

She turned to Alayne for an answer. 

“Maester Luwin told me to bring the boys here and ask you to come to the Great Hall.” Alayne explained as she pulled out a puzzle from the toy chest. 

Benjen’s grey eyes brightened at the sight of the puzzle. He loved puzzles and riddles. Maester Luwin said that it was an early sign of intelligence and Jon and Sansa couldn’t have been prouder. He let go of his mother’s skirts and snatched the puzzle from his nursemaid’s hands. He plopped down on the floor dumped all the pieces out and set to work. 

Sansa opened to mouth to ask Alayne another question when Rickard’s tower of blocks toppled over. The two-year-old watched dumbstruck as the wooden blocks came crashing down onto the rushes. He looked at his twin sister then up at his mother his lip trembling. Oh Gods here it comes. He squeezed his eyes shut and let out ear-splitting wail, big fat tears spilling down his cheeks. Quick as a flash Sansa scooped him up and started rocking him gently back and forth and peppering his flushed face with kisses. 

“It’s alright. I’m going to kiss all your freckles.” She cooed. 

“Don’t worry Rickard.” Daryn chirped helpfully. “I’ll help you make a new tower.” 

Ignoring her twin brother’s distress Ryella toddled over and started organizing the fallen blocks methodically. Benjen was so thoroughly absorbed in his solving his puzzle that he was obvious to the chaos around him. He had lined up all the corner and edge pieces and that was all that matter. Sansa shook her head and tutted. Those two were often off in their own little worlds. At first, she had worried about it but now she just accepted it as a part of their personalities. Some what pacified Rickard fisted his tiny hands in Sansa’s wool gown and smeared snot all over the majestic direwolf embroidered across her shoulder. 

“Did the maester say anything else?” She asked rubbing Rickard’s back in soothing circles. 

Alayne shrugged.

“Something about a message from King’s Landing. Lord Stark’s already in the Great Hall with his mother.” 

Sansa cringed at the mention of her good mother. Lady Barbery had been against Sansa’s marriage to the Stark heir. She thought that the Tullys had too much power what with both her aunts married to two of the most powerful men in Westoros. She thought that by marrying Sansa Jon had “let those trouts get their fish hooks into the North.” 

Annoyed that none had heeded her warning she had taken to constantly undermining her gooddaughter. During Jon and Sansa’s first year living at Winterfell she had insisted that she retain the title Lady Stark, and her gooddaughter be referred to as simple Lady Sansa. It had taken a lot of cajoling from Jon, Arya and her good uncle Ned before she’d finally relinquished her title. Thankfully she had no quams about letting Sansa run the household. As long as she could ride her blood red stallion through the wolfswood, and the kitchen staff cooked the way she liked, heavy on the sauces and salty as the sea, Lady Barbery was content. For her part, Sansa respected her goodmother but she couldn’t like her. During the welcome feast drunk and bitter Lady Barbery had called Jon weak for not butchering all of the Targaryens to avenge her son and beloved husband. That one offhand comment had cut Jon to the core and Sansa could never forgive her for that. 

Sansa set Rickard down in between Ryella and Benjen and kissed his forehead. She stood up smoothed out her skirts and touched her mother’s rune necklace for luck. 

“Very well, Alayne mind the children and I’ll be back shortly.” 

\--------

As Sansa bustled through the corridor she tried to guess what the news could be. She reassured herself that it probably wasn’t anything to do with the Baratheon/Lannisters. Ever since Princess Rhaenys had born Lord Willas a son, Daeron, plots to put Tommen on the throne had ground down to a halt. Word was she was with child again and their children would come before Tommen in the line of succession, as would the children of Princess Daenerys if she ever reappeared. 

With a Tyrell third in line to the throne the Queen of Thorns had withdrawn her support of Tommen much to Lady Margaery’s chagrin. Everyone knew that she had married the child in hopes of becoming Queen. Oberyn told Roslin that originally Lady Margaery had tried to finagle a betrothal to young Prince Aegon but the Queen Dowager and Queen Regent rejected her. Uncle Tywin seemed focused on filling the small council with as many Lannisters as possible and had put his nephew’s cause on hold. That just left Lady Margaery and Lady Cersei who had been working together to spread anti-Martell sentiment throughout the kingdoms, but their vicious gossip didn’t change the fact that the Queens were fair and just rulers. 

It was probably nothing. Gods be good, mayhaps it was even good news. Oh, who did she think she was kidding. Sansa pulled her shoulders back took a deep breath preparing herself for whatever fresh crisis the Gods had in store. She opened the heavy wooden door with a loud creak and glided into the great hall. 

Lady Barbery paced her black skirts swirling about her as she turned toward the door. She looked Sansa over her eyes lingering on Rickard’s snot on her shoulder. Her eyes narrowed and her lips curled up in a smirk. 

“Well, now that the little bird’s here we can get down to business.” 

When she had first arrived at Winterfell Lady Barbery had mocked her feathered mantel calling it cheap southron pageantry. It was where she’d gotten the idea for her nickname “little bird.”  


Ignoring her good mother’s barb Sansa nodded at both Vayon Poole and Maester Luwin before walking up to the great table to take her seat beside her husband. Despite his, youth Jon had learned to carry himself with dignity and gravitas. His steely grey eyes shone with solemn intelligence and determination. He had emerged from the war a natural leader who could take on men twice his age. Sansa was incredibly proud of him. Jon gave her a warm but tired smile as she sat down beside him. She leaned in and pressed a feather-light kiss to his lips in greeting. His bread and hair had grown a bit long and shaggy. She should give him a haircut soon. It was one of their little domestic intimacies she’d come to enjoy. 

“So, Alayne told me there was a raven from the capital?” 

Maester Luwin cleared his throat and turned his gaze to the scroll in his hands. 

“Lord Renly has accused Cersei Baratheon of adultery. He alleges that her children are bastards.” 

For a moment her blood ran cold. She reached under the table and took Jon’s hand in hers. The secret was out. Who told? Gerold? No, that would mean implicating himself plus Cersei had some strange hold over him. Tyblot? Probably not, he won’t gain anything from it. What of Tyrion? Mayhaps he did this and would somehow pin the blame for the leak on Damon. That way Tywin would be furious at Damon and reinstate Tyrion as his heir. Seven hells. Why had she told Tyblot to tell him? Yes, he was cleverer than half the maesters in Oldtown put together but was he trustworthy. Gods, she was glad not to be a Lannister. Once, she’d wanted nothing more than to be like Cersei with her jewels and golden haired children but that was before she learned that beautiful people could be the evilest. 

“What proof does he offer?” She asked relieved that her voice sounded even and calm.

“Well,” Maester Luwin said looking rather uncomfortable. “Lord Robert had a great many bastards and they are all black of hair no matter what their mother’s coloring. As you know, Lady Cersei’s children are exact copies of their mother with no Baratheon traits.” 

Lady Barbery’s thin pale lips twisted into a cross between a pout and a sneer. She twisted her dragonglass ring round and round her finger and the firelight glinted on the snarling direwolf choker around her neck.

“It’s lucky for her that they do not resemble their true father or else she would have been discovered long ago.” She said her voice harsh and clipped as she continued pacing back and forth back and forth like a caged animal. 

Sansa and Jon exchanged a knowing look. Tommen looked more and more like his true father every day. The only reason people hadn’t noticed earlier is that they couldn’t fathom the depth of Cersei’s depravity. 

“Also all three of the Kettleblack brothers swear that she took them to her bed before Lord Robert’s passing.” 

Her twin brother, her half-brother, and now three knights sworn to her lord husband… Cersei was truly insatiable! Did she call out Jaime’s name when she coupled with the Kettleblacks? Did she pit them against each other making them fight for a place in her bed? 

“This could very well just be a power grab. If what he says is true he would become Lord Paramount of the Stormlands in his nephew’s stead. That seems pretty convenient.” 

Jon’s eyebrow knitted together as he frowned puzzled. 

“Lord Stannis would inherit after Lord Tommen surely.” 

“One would think that but no.” Maester Luwin replied. “Lord Robert wrote in his will that if his sons should die that Lord Renly should be named his heir.” 

That was a huge slap in the face to Stannis. Tyblot would take a sick pleasure in hearing about the stoic man’s misfortune. The situation would also be awkward for the Tyrells, with Ser Loras supporting his paramour as he took down his sister’s husband. Well, when your family had fingers in so many pies there were bound to be conflicting interests.  
Jon took a deep breath and ran his hands through his lustrous hair. Yep, it was too long she’d have to cut it either today or tomorrow. 

“Now we already know that the Lannisters will support Tommen.” 

“And the Tyrells.” Ser Rodrick added as scratching at his grey beard. “Lord Mace won’t stand for his only daughter being written off as a bastard’s wife.”

“Oh don’t worry about her.” Lady Barbery scoffed. “He’s still a boy the marriage is unconsummated she’ll get out of it easily enough. All she has to do is buy off the High Septon.” 

“But what we need to know is,distain” Maester Luwin said ignoring the interruptions. 

“Where do the Tullys stand?” 

All eyes turned to Sansa. 

“I…” 

Lady Barbery let out a mummer’s laugh. 

“We already know where they stand. Tommen is the golden Tully’s step-grandson."

She shot Sansa a look of disdain. 

“Mother…” Jon warned. 

“What it’s true? The trouts prize family loyalty above all else. The floppy trout and his sister would call up their bannermen even if Tommen had been sired by the Stranger himself.” 

Sansa was incensed. Every muscle in her body tensed at her good mother's viteral. No matter how many northern children she raised no matter, how well she ran the household, or how much Jon cared for her in her good mother’s eyes she would always be some southron dragging them into schemes and intrigue. She understood the subtext of the situation. Lady Barbery was worried that she would try and persuade Jon to send troops to defend Tommen. As she looked around the table she realized that the others were thinking the same thing. 

She licked her lips and played with her star bracelet deciding what to say. Her Aunt Cat knew of Tommen’s true parentage and she had told her father Tyblot’s secret before they left Riverrun but she wasn’t about to share that with Lady Barbery. If anyone were to hurt Damon Tybolt or Gerold the Vale and the Riverlands would come running to their aid in a heartbeat but Tommen was a different matter. When Lord Tywin remarried Cersei had made it very clear that she wanted nothing to do with her stepmother. Aunt Catelyn would, of course, be sadden that her husband’s house had suffered such a blow and try to minimize the damage but Cersei meant next to nothing to her. Sansa clenched her jaw and held her head up high. She locked eyes with Lady Barbery and plastered a serene expression across her face. 

“The Tully words are Family Duty Honor. My Aunt Catelyn would not call upon her family merely to safe her step grandson’s skin. We will await the King’s justice.” 

There was a moment of tense silence. She sensed people shifting in their seats old bones cracking and wool rubbing against fur but she was completely focused on her good mother. Finally, Lady Barbery gave a haughty sniff and averted her eyes. 

Jon nodded sagely. 

“You heard Lady Stark, we will await the King’s justice.” 

He squeezed her head under the table. 

\-------

As soon as they entered the kennel Sansa’s soft grey puppy let out an excited yip and bounded up to her. Sansa smiled picking her up and cradling the pup as she licked her face and nuzzled at her neck. 

“Hello, Lady.” 

“That’s quite a name for a wild beast.” Her husband teased. 

“I thought it fitting. She’s so gentle and sweet.” As if to prove Sansa’s point Lady turned her head and fixed Jon with her warm brown eyes. 

Most of the other pups ignored them busy either nursing or playing with each other but the biggest of the litter white as ivory and fluffy as a cloud, was brave enough to saunter up to Jon and sniff his boots. Ghost sniffed the pup’s tail then relaxed instantly. It was as if he could tell he was pack, another Stark direwolf. 

“The boys will be so happy. They’ve always been very jealous of Bran and Rickon’s direwolves.” She mused as she scratched the hot spot on Lady’s haunches. 

Sansa had always been in awe of the bond between the Starks and their wolves. How protective and insightful they were, how they responded to their owner’s emotions. It was a great comfort to think of her children being protected by such fearsome and loyal creatures. 

“There’s one for each of the children.” 

The words fell from her lips before she knew it. Oops! There went her secret. Well now was as good a time as any. Jon furrowed his brow and looked down at Nymeria and her pups mentally recounting them. 

“No, there…” 

Jon trailed off and turned back to her mouth open and eyes wide.

“I’m with child.” 

He pulled her into his arms tucking her under his chin and kissing her hair. 

“It’s a boy.” 

“How can you tell?” He asked caressing her still flat stomach. She placed her hand over his and interlocking their fingers. 

“Your Uncle Ned’s always says that the direwolves anticipate the needs of the Starks. Nymeria gave birth to six pups two female, and four male. Enough for me and all our children. A male direwolf for a male child.” 

“A son.” Jon whispered his voice filled with awe.

“With any luck he’ll favor you.” He teased lightly tucking a lock of her hair behind her ear and smoothing it into place. 

“I quite like the name Torrhen.” She said in a hushed tone playing with the fastenings on his leather jerkin. Torrhen Stark, After the last King in the North.

“Little Torrhen.” He whispered his hands framing her face, a thumb tracing her full lower lip. His eyes had softened and there was a light in them. There was such warmth in him she was surprised she’d ever thought him cold.

He swooped in pressing a soft kiss to her lips. He moaned when she responded eagerly, her front pressed close against him, sucking on her bottom lip. His tenderness gave way to passion as his hands slid down the sides of her body, over the swell of her breasts and the small of her waist. She was breathless when she opened her eyes again, lips bright red against her fair skin.

“We can’t get carried away the children are right outside.” 

Jon groaned and pressed his forehead against hers. 

“We’ll continue this latter.”

\----

“Any questions?” 

Their four children stared back at him blankly all bundled up in their sable furs squirming about in excitement. Jon had just finished lecturing them about how they would be excepted to raise and train their own wolves and how they must mind the master of the hounds Cley. Sansa had to gnaw on her lips to keep from laughing. She knew that her husband wanted to be a good father and teach their children the old ways, but they were two and four years old and he was talking way over their heads. All they cared about were the fun new pets waiting on the other side of the wooden door. His words were but wind to them. 

“How will we know which one is ours?” Benjen asked. 

Daryn looked up eyes big with worry. 

“What if we want the same one?” 

Rickon and Jon looked at each other. 

“You just know. That’s how it happened before.” 

Sansa hoped he was right. Now she couldn’t help but imagine all the children fighting over one wolf pup, Ryella pouting, Rickard screaming at the top of his lungs, Benjen brooding and Daryn crying in a corner. 

\-------

Thankfully, Jon was right. All the children immediately zero in on a wolf pup. 

Daryn surprised her by immediately gravitating toward the rut of the litter a tawny pup with amber eyes. 

“I’ll name him Flame.” 

He tilted his little heart shape face up fixing his big brown eyes on her eager for praise. 

“Is that a good name Lady Sansa? Lord Rickon said the name should be fierce.” 

At first Daryn had called her Aunt Sansa, she’d wanted to let him call her mother but Jon was worried that would confuse the boy latter on. But a few months ago after some reprimanding from Lady Barbery, he’d started calling everyone in the family by their proper titles. 

“It’s a fine name Daryn.” She reassured him tussling his chestnut hair that was always sticking up every which way. He grinned sheepishly bright spots of color appearing on his cheekbones. 

“Smoke!” Rickard cried. 

Sansa turned and spotted her youngest son pointing his chubby finger at the sable pup who was rolling around in the hay. Truly he was just showing off the word he’d learned from Arya this morning but it was a fitting name. Upon hearing it’s name the pup charged at Rickard and knocked him down into a pile of sweet smelling hay. Rickard squealed and began wrestling with the puppy. He was getting his tunic filthy but for once, Sansa didn’t mind. 

“The baby doesn’t know what he’s saying.” Rickon scoffed rolling his eyes as he picked dirty out from under his fingernails with a dagger. 

“The pup seems to like his name just fine.” Sansa said defending her son. 

Rickon was well meaning but wild and occasionally thoughtless. She would not have him bully or demean any of her children. Now that Bran had become Ser Arthur’s squire Rickon had started involving his young nephews in his pranks and shenanigans. It was all fun and games but the boys did idolize their brash uncle so. He seemed oblivious to how important his opinion was to her boys. Only Ryella had no interest in him, she was her Uncle Bran’s little princess. 

Sansa heard a bubbly giggle and looked down to find her Ryella enchanted by the female pup who was chasing her own tail. She was the prettiest of the litter, with a sliver coat charcoal edging around her ears and bright blue eyes. 

“What are you going to call her sweetling?” Jon asked smoothed back her tousled black hair. 

Ryella scrunched up her nose and studied the wolf thoughtfully for a moment before announcing. “Star!” 

The pup cocked her head to the side before licking the little girl’s nose. Sansa smiled and she and Jon shared a knowing look. Ryella had become obsessed with stars lately. She loved her mother’s star bracelet and all her Great Aunt Ashara’s star themed dresses and jewelry. When she was very good Sansa and Jon would bundle her up in furs and take her to the rookery at night to look at the constellation. 

Benjen approached the largest of the litter quiet as a shadow cat stalking its prey. She watched as he knelt down by the snow colored wolf and the beast put its paws on his shoulders. Her eldest son stared into the pup’s slate grey eyes. Master and beast with matching eyes imagine that. 

“His name is Ice.” Benjen declared solemnly. “Like Papa’s sword.” 

Sansa imagined her son fully grown the great sword Ice strapped to his side and on his other side a deadly beast of the same name. The image made her proud but also frightened. Sansa had no doubt that Benjen would grow into a fine leader. There was a fire in his soul, a quiet strength. When he grew into his features he’d look like the illustrations of heroes from her childhood books, with his aquiline nose and strong square jaw. But she wanted him to stay her little boy forever. 

Jon picked the remaining pup and cradled him against his chest. The pitch black wolf burrowed into Jon’s leather jerkin his eye glimmering like pieces of onyx. 

“And what shall we name this one?” Sansa asked as she scratched behind its ear. 

Jon looked down at the wolf pup and his face turned pensive. The wolf looked back at him and with its ears perked up. 

“Your name is Shadow and you have a very important job.” He said in his “Lord of Winterfell” voice, deep , rich and somber as the grave. “You shall be guarding our next babe.” 

Shadow stared up into Jon’s grey eyes and let out a mighty yawn rolling out his rosy pink tongue.


	19. Chapter 19

“It’s been nice having a bard here.” Sansa said taking off her mother’s rune necklace placing it in her wierwood jewelry box. 

She slipped her amethyst encrusted star bracelet off her wrist and let it fall into the box with a clunk before snapping it closed. She eased herself down into her chair. She was only four months pregnant but it was already affecting her balance and making her back ache. 

“Ryella and Benjen loved the music.” 

The song about Cersei was far too raunchy for children but luckily the lyrics went right over their heads. Unfortunately, Rickard was at a stage where he repeated everything he heard. So he’d started chanting: “Whore! Whore! Whore!” while giggling and clapping his hands in time with the music. Rickon and Arya found it hilarious and kept encouraging him. It was a long night. As she took down her plaits she watched her husband’s reflection in her mirror. His thick calloused finger struggled to undo the delicate buttons on his fine new doublet and she smiled to herself finding it endearing. He grunted victoriously when he undid the last button and tossed the doublet aside in frustration. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t dance with you I know you enjoy it but…” 

"It’s no matter. Your brother used to tell me that dancing wasn't exactly something you did well," She teased. 

Sansa froze for a moment. As a rule, they did not mention Robb but she had had several cups of sweet plum wine and she was struck by a particular memory.  


Flushed with mulled wine Robb had told her that Jon had two left feet and could never get up the nerve to ask ladies to dance. He said that this was why he was joining the Night’s Watch so that his peers would think his celibacy noble rather than pathetic. “Either way, he’ll go to his grave as pure as the Maiden” He’d said grinning wolfishly as he spun her around the dance floor. “at least if he takes the black there’s some honor in it.” 

Jon let out a dry chuckle and stepped out of his trousers. 

"I'm sure Robb told you any number of embarrassing stories about his hapless brother." There was a hint of bitterness in his voice along with the wry humor. Jon loved to use humor as a deflection.

She watched him in the mirror as he walked towards her. Her Jon was still insecure, still, uncomfortable having to rule Winterfell and be Warden of the North when he hadn’t been trained for the post. Even though they never spoke of it, she was sure he wondered if she would have been happier as Robb’s wife. It was a question she honestly could not answer. All she knew was that she was happy with Jon and she wished he could see himself the way she saw him.

He reached out and parted her hair with his fingers. She smiled folding her hands daintily in her lap grateful that her thoughtless comment hadn’t spoiled the night. He picked up the silver hairbrush from her vanity table and started brushing out her hair. It was one of their little domestic rituals that she held so dear. She couldn’t remember who started it or when but it was just part of the fabric of their lives now. She had something she’d been meaning to talk to him about ever since she received the raven from her Aunt Cat. She knew it was risky and a big favor but it was also the right thing to do. 

“I wanted to talk to you about my step cousins.” 

Jon froze holding her silver hairbrush in midair the muscles in his shoulders tightened. He arched an eyebrow and meet her eyes in the mirror. 

“Oh?”

Sansa flushed and broke his gaze. She fiddled with the sapphire butterfly ring turning it round and round on her finger nervously. Aunt Cat had sent it to her for her last name day. It was too big for her delicate hands but Ryella loved. She knew that by asking this she was playing right into what Lady Barbery thought of her. Jon might finally see her the way his mother did, as a brood mare that wasn’t worth its price, an outsider with too much baggage and too many strings attached. 

She knew what her good mother would say of her plan. She’d say that she was putting the North at risk over a misplaced sense of familial duty. She’d say that by bringing it up with Jon in private she was playing the seductress trying to manipulate her husband and use sex as a weapon. But she had to do this even if it caused tension in her marriage. Family, Duty, Honor. Sansa took a deep breath and barreled on. 

“I know we said to just let the King’s Justice take it’s course but… Myrcella is innocent in all this. If none intervenes she will be sent to King’s Landing for the trail and if her mother is found guilty she will be executed.”

“They might be merciful and allow her to got to join the silent sisters.” Jon replied resuming his brushing. 

Technically he was right. Myrcella couldn’t inherit or do anyone any harm but they both knew that mercy was rare these days. At least he wasn’t rejecting the idea. She could see the wheels spinning in his head as he brushed out a day’s worth of tangles. She knew he’d find Myrcella’s predicament compelling because he was an honorable man. It was one of the things she admired the most about him. He put doing the right thing before politics or self-interested scheming. So she plunged right in. 

“If I could arrange for Ser Balon to bring her to the North would I have your blessing to hide her here as my handmaiden?” 

Her words hung in the air throbbing as Jon brushed her hair in silence. Finally, he sighed and put the hairbrush down on the table. She bite her lip and tried to ignore the butterflies fluttering in her stomach. 

“Yes.” 

Relieved, she leaped up from her chair and pulled him into a hug. 

“Thank you.” She whispered into his chest. He just smiled against her temple reaching down and stroking the small bump where their son was growing. 

“I can’t say no to you. Especially since you ask for so little.” 

Most men would not consider this a little thing but Sansa knew what he meant. He wasn’t talking about how she refrained from asked for jewels or extravagant gifts he meant something deeper. Something about how she never excepted him to be like Robb, or tried to turn him into someone else a southron knight, or roguish prince.  
He knelt down and kissed her bump. 

“Your father loves you little Torrhen.” He whispered. “He loves you very much.”

Sansa’s breath hitched for a moment as it always did when Jon said those words. Her husband had never told her he loved her. He said it to his sister, to their children to the baby growing in her belly but not to her. But then again she hadn’t said she love him either. She had known that she was in love with Jon for some time now. But she wasn’t sure how to tell Jon without pressuring him to say it back. She also didn’t want him to think that she was saying it as a formality, or that she was overly emotional because of the baby. 

Even though Jon hadn’t told her how he felt about her, Sansa knew that Jon must feel something for her. The tenderness of his touch, the way he held her as if he never wanted to let go, the way he looked at her as if she was the sun and the moon….there had to be some love there. He was a man of few words and not one for sentimentality but he would tell her eventually. After all, they had time. 

\-------Two years----- 

Torrhen squirmed in Sansa’s lap pulling on her plaited hair and giving her a half-toothed grin. She smoothed down his deep red locks, more like her father’s hair than her own, and placed him down on the floor. He gave her one last croon before crawling across the floor with great determination towards the soft wolf Lady Ashara had sewn for him. She had been shocked when he’d first opened his eyes revealing their warm caramel color the same color as her mother’s. It made her happier than she could say to have a piece of her mother still with her. She’s written to her father straight away telling him that his latest grandson had Tully hair and Royce eyes . 

He was wild thing getting into everything, getting covered in stains, making messes where ever he went. Arya assured her that Rickon had been the same way at that age but looking at reckless nine-year-old Rickon she found very little comfort in that. Lady Barbery said he had “wolf’s blood.” Torrhen grabbed the soft wolf and started chewing on its ear. He grinned and shook his head from side to side like a dog with a toy. Lady lifted up her head and woofed her disapproval before curling up into a ball. Shadow bounded over and grabbed the other side of the toy. Master and wolf began a game of tug of war. 

Chuckling, Sansa stood up from her rocking chair and walked over to the window. Looking through it, she spotted and Daryn and Benjen sparring with wooden swords as Myrcella cheered from the sidelines with Rickard balanced on her shoulders. The mummer’s Baratheon had died her golden hair nut brown and if anyone asked she was Melessa Storm a hedge knight's bastard from the Dornish Marches. At first, Lady Barbery had been outraged by her presents but when Sansa pointed out that Tywin Lannister was now in their debt she came around quickly. She was a clever girl, good with the children and tough enough to withstand Arya and Lady Barbery’s moody temperaments and legendary stubbornness. 

When the trail had ended and Tommen had been sent to the Citadel Sansa had asked her if she wanted to journey to Oldtown to be with her brother. She was relieved when Myrcella had said she wanted to stay up North. She wrestled over whether or not to tell Myrcella the truth of her parentage but had decided to put that discussion off. It only seemed fair to give the girl time to digest all the information. She had gone from believing she was the daughter of Lord Baratheon Lord Paramount of the Stormlands, to thinking she was sired by one of her mother’s lovers, possibly a Kettleblack. That was quite a fall from grace and she didn’t want to pile on. She’d wait until the girl was older. But how old should you be when you learn that you’re a bastard born of incest? There was never a good time for some things but they still had to be done. 

She watched as Daryn lost to Benjen yet again. Benjen had taken to swordplay like a fish takes to water but Daryn had a natural clumsiness he had yet to overcome. He was, however, a very gracious loser. He was by far the best behaved of the children obedient and helpful at every turn. Daryn was a handsome boy. She was sure that when he was older and grew into his long spindly limbs that women would find him exotic and striking with his olive complexion and Braavosi nose. 

She was always torn when thinking about his future. It made the most sense for him to go down south. He could squire at Riverrun or at Evenhall with her Great Uncle Black Fish and his sons and become a knight. Or she could write to Quentyn and Roslin and find him a place in Dorne where bastards were not as openly discriminated against. Even though these options were the most logical she worried that Daryn would think he was being sent away as punishment. He was a very sensitive child much like his cousin Rickard. Except when he was upset he would run off to the Goodswood were as Rickard would cry and pitch an enormous hissy fit. She’d just have to wait until he was older and let him decide for himself. 

That reminded her, Daryn had been asking some questions and she had an heirloom to give to him. She walked over to her desk and picked up her sewing box. She heard the door opening and looked up to see Jon greeting Torrhen. Sansa smiled to herself and turned her attention back to the matter at hand. She picked through tons of fabric scraps and oodles of ribbon before finally pulling it out, her old betrothal present the silver direwolf with the glimmering sapphire eyes.

“Where’s Ryella? I thought she was with you?” Jon asked leaning over and stoking the fire. 

There had been an abominable chill this past sennnight it appeared that the Stark words were correct and winter truly was coming. Suddenly Shadow pounced on Torrhen and the two started play wrestling. She was convinced that Shadow was sent by the Gods to tire out her little wilding. 

“She’s out with Bran trying to catch butterflies. She’s developed a sudden interest in them. I let them go alone since they have both Summer and Star with them” 

Jon chuckled and shook his head in disbelief. They both knew that it was far too cold for butterflies but Ryella was a determined child and won’t listen to reason. Their daughter had her Uncle Bran wrapped around her little finger and would take any and every excuse to be out in nature. She was a dreamer with great enthusiasm and a sunny disposition. She won’t be a fierce warrior like Arya but she won’t be a perfect little lady like her mother either. She would be her own person. 

“What do you have there?” He asked pointing to the brooch in her hand. 

“Alayne says Daryn’s been asking about his father. So I’m collecting things of Robb’s that we can give to him when he’s old enough. I thought this would be perfect.” She said holding it up. 

“It was meant for me but I think a man could wear it.” 

“You’ve been far better with him than I ever imagined.”

She shrugged putting the brooch back on her dressing table. 

“Well it’s just like Lady Ashara says, it’s wrong to blame the child for the sins of the parent.” 

Truthfully she didn’t feel that she had the right to play the scorned woman. Yes, she would have loved a chance to talk things through with Robb and discover how he really felt about both her and Jeyne but that door was closed. Besides imagining that Robb was happy with Jeyne in the afterlife assuaged her guilt over finding love with Jon.  


She looked her husband over and immediately realized something was off. Jon’s smile was thin and wane his gray eyes were almost black and his shoulder blades were pinched together. Sansa hopped over the pile of building blocks that Rickard had discarded on the floor and sidestepped Benjen's rocking horse closing the distance between them. 

“What’s wrong?” 

Jon ran his hands through his hair pulling it forward to cover his face and ducked his head down suddenly mesmerized by his boots. She rolled her eyes at his transparency. He was terrible at keeping secret, which was comforting in its own way.

“I don’t want to trouble you...we…well we don’t know the details yet.” 

“Jon.” 

She curled her long pale fingers around his chin and lifted it up making him meet her gaze. 

“It’s Daenerys.” 

Her stomach lurched at the princess’s name. She had apparently trained three dragons and now convinced that she was the Prince that was Promised, was threatening to conquer Westoros and take the Iron Throne from her own nephew. Wasn't the Prince who was Promised meant to save their people? Not, annihilate them. So much death and destruction over an old legend, she prayed to the old Gods and the new that the prophecy was false. Her Benjen fit the prophecy perfectly but she had vowed to keep it from him. She would not have her little boy tainted by this madness and chaos. 

“She had one of her dragons burn our envoy alive. And then she let it eat him!” 

“It is pure madness. She showed mercy in freeing the slaves of Mereen yet she threatens her own people with fire and blood!” 

Jon kept on talking but his voice was drowned out by a pounding in Sansa's head. Her heart dropped to the souls of her shoes as a sense of dread washed over her. War was coming. She ached at the thought of going through it all again, the waiting, the worrying the loneliness and isolation. At least she would have her children to keep her company this time. But the children meant that there was more at risk. If Jon died she won’t be the only one left devastated. How was she going to shelter them from the ugliness of war? 

And Jon... She'd have to watch Jon ride off to war again! Only this time he'd be fighting against actual real live dragons! Gods, her stomach was churning more than it ever had during any of her pregnancies. Jon could very well die. The Seven preserve her, Jon dead. It was like her world was closing in on her and shattering at the same time. Ever since the rebellion ended they’d had time. She thought they’d always have time but now..... 

“I love you.” 

She only realized she’d spoken out loud when she looked up and saw Jon staring at her, mouth hanging wide open eyes filled with bewilderment.

“What?” 

Her mind and body buzzing with emotions that she couldn’t name. A giddy pleasure bubbled up inside her at the warmth in Jon’s shining eyes. She swallowed thickly pushing down the huge lump in her throat. This shouldn't be so hard. He was her husband, the father to her four children. She should be able to talk to him and tell him how she felt. The intimacy was terrifying yet exhilarating.

“I…I love you and if we’re going to have to go through all of this again I just…I want you to know that.” 

“I love you too.”

His voice was so raw, and his face so earnest. All his hopes, fears, and emotions were laid bare for Sansa to see. Her breath hitched. Sansa’s hand had her father’s to give away to the highest bidder. The only thing she had left to give was her heart. That she could give it to whoever she chose. Jon beamed at her. Sansa wasn't sure who initiated it but suddenly they are entwined in each other sharing a languid and passionate kiss. She felt light headed but grounded. Her heart raced but she was utterly calm. She felt as if she was going to burst at the seams yet was perfectly content. They might be hurdling towards more bloody turmoil but she felt secure here in Jon's strong warm arms. She knew she had given her heart to someone who deserved it.


End file.
